Feet broken and bloody, walking down the eons from A to B
Pin cushion from too many days and too many ways
Lives lived burned into the ether of Soul
Memories forgotten through too many experiences
Fragments burnt into the neurons of Self
I am that I am forever am
Bitter dust of days sweetened by hearts shredded and sewn
Atoms joined and blasted into oblivion and back
The sweet scent of surrealism reminds of reality scorched into the retina gold, silver and red
Ancestors whisper vague ideals shouted while tenderly stroking scars
Live to die and live again forever turning on the Wheel until escape is stolen
Gods language written in t
Josey sat down on her bed at the hostel with a sigh and kicked off her shoes. Although her feet were sore from walking all day, she couldn't be happier. Finally, she was in Tuscany.
She looked at her watch to see if it was too late to call her sister. Only eleven at night in Charleston, Becca should still be up. She rumaged around in her knapsack until she found her phone, then about jumped out of her skin when it started ringing in her hand.
"Hey, sis."
"Josey, it's almost eleven and I was going to bed soon. I can't believe you haven't called me yet! You promised you'd check in regularly!"
"Becca, I was just pulling out my phone to call
The Phoenix at the Center by PhreedomM, literature
Literature
The Phoenix at the Center
Some days unfocused desire beats bronze wings of fury about my head and my vision is tinged an unsatisfied shade of crimson.
Want, need, thirst, hunger dimly perceived through the peripheral. Desperate yearning turns blue blood molten with barely understood fire.
Vague ideas of passion...of quenching...life, love, sex, joy, and the deliciously unchecked violence of rage.
Some days I want to be shredded by more than I can handle for the pure unalloyed pleasure of more more more.
Being the rock by which others check their fall can oft times feel a velvet choker bating breath in lungs filled beyond the scream.
The strength of my stance is a
I am who I am,
always.
Forget me
and I may forget myself,
for a little while
but then I'll remember
and I'll think less of you,
for thinking less of me.
I am who I am,
always.
I opened my heart,
my flesh
and my existence to the Universe.
Love flowed, in Its myriad of manifestations.
Each particle, spread out through time,
connected
and became an extension of Self.
Master Patience's Apt Pupil by PhreedomM, literature
Literature
Master Patience's Apt Pupil
Patience is a virtue which can chafe muscles straining within the harness of inaction
Each thing in its own time is a hard lesson for those with fire in the blood
Repose can feel like restraint for one whom finds tranquility in movement
The true virtue of quiescence for one born to vivacity is the lesson of equanimity
To retrain single minded determination to see beyond the bounds of self and situation
The Middle Path comprehension of equilibrium between obsession and apathy
Patience is only a true Master to the one who needs be an apt pupil
Navigating the Path Not Chosen by PhreedomM, literature
Literature
Navigating the Path Not Chosen
One foot in front of the other
Trudging along a path not chosen
Living each day in the moment
yet heart yearning for warmer climate
Each trial a lesson
Every step an adventure
Eyes wide open
for sure footing