A dream has shown a path yet unknown.
The beginning is marked with a sense
of anticipation of what is yet to be.
A broad panorama with a moon in the center
will change with the days sun
and the direction we walk.
The dream began eons ago
when we were one in the heavens.
Our energies mingled together.
For centuries we merged.
Only to be torn asunder.
Sent to hell on earth
to spend our lives searching
for each other,
the missing half of souls.
That is an interesting look at why we are here. I never considered God that sadistic, truthfully.
Honestly, I don't see God that way either. I was working on two other writes and took a break and came here. What you see above is kinda a merge I guess of some themes from the other two that just came out as I whipped that off here.
If we are speaking of God, I have to say I see nothing but mercy and love else how would he continue to be with us mortals?
Sorry, getting kinda religous toned here.
The interesting thing is that if he were only those things then he couldn't be just and perfect. While I don't see god as sadistic I actually understood the perspective of the observations you made anyhow. Sometimes trying to balance the justice that has a tendency of creating terrible things as natural consequences of men's actions that God doesn't obstruct, against the mercy that give love and life to all things and give life is a contradiction that has caused more then just you to pause and wonder even if you came to those observations by accident.
i want to write about happy polka dots
where goats nibble on rocky hillsides
instead i dream of cities being blown up in the distance
i follow the line of pickup trucks loaded with deer rifles and shotguns
i can survive - at least for the few minutes it takes for my dream to run its course
sitting in a cement walled facility, knees pulled into my chest, i sing
"and the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air"
when i wake, the first light of day is streaking hazily into my room
i think of happy polka dots
but the night and war seem more than a dream.
The dream, yet why at remembrance, should I burn?
T'was a dream of mirage and cannot return.
But was she, too, a spirit, the waif who flew by,
And breathed in my bed, while she hid from mine eye?
Was she, too, a vision, just chancing to view,
Then lifted with the sunrise, or mingled in dew?
Oh! should it seem so,--Oh! should that her eye,
Had been but a star-gleam that dropped from the sky,
And her voice that was framed of falsetto thrill,
Had been but the Lark, that sang then was still!
Ahh shyt Beth. You can do it. Well, anyway, think on it a bit and return with something, er, Beth. Thanks sweety.
I suppose maybe I should save it then 2uesday? I will consider and maybe add to it then on your recommendation. Thanks.
Slumber of the Monarch
A sleeping did her spirit feel;
She had no human cares:
She seemed a thing not so real
With naught of earthly wares.
She neither hears nor sees,
Resting now under green embrace,
With wings, and leaves, and breeze;
Sleep well, wee fairy of dancing grace.
Awake for such a living fantasy
Asleep to miss the real purpose for doze.
A trial of ideas that sends your mind to wander
That's the difference between poetry and prose.
Just for Ralwus, I'll try the start of one tonight.....
A dream began with folded wings
Glory be to the heart that's free
Young and strong with roots of a tree
A beauty sought by all the kings
From lands afar they came to hear
Voice so clear singing love a song
Prisoner of love far too long
Drawing everyone far so near
Only you could get me to write one...it's been months since I wrote a poem!! xox
If one delicately sleeps inches away
Despite the loud snore
and completely misses her birthday
Would she be considered a selfish whore?
Met in the truckstop; thought her a vamp
Left me high n' dry; nothin' but a tramp
Now I keep on going, don't stop in anymore
Got no use for women, the truckstop whore
There was a young lady from Boston, Mass.
Who stood in the ocean up to her… ankles.
It doesn’t rhyme.
But in twelve hours...
A dream overcomes the gentle sleep so serene
A nightmare of sorts shoving way in between
Things that creak and go bump in the night
Unknowns that scare with flash of light
Struggle to run from them in your nap
Fight back, scream, pinch, bite, and slap
Anything to get away and just wake
A dream too long in the time it takes
Wake up my rotted soul
and tell the new day to me;
behooved, sorry-struck, immured
in wall of sensual sleep. Slowly
rise and blink the mist from your eye
and show your red secrets, your nightly sighs
to the world of wonder and me. Dreams
to live to become real when you awaken
when morning pronounces truce over
the night meeting day in the dragon's bed.
Cry out your innocence when you
sigh backward into the amorous arm
of her sea as dead.
Wake my rotted soul, look down on the
serpent that struck men from the loft
of vanity. Burn in my world sad-struck,
beloved, burn in my world the sensual sleep
and tell the new day to me.
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