Look at all of us dancing, to the steps of the game.
Trying so hard, to show we are all the same.
Here we are all equal, but only when cut in half,
So please don’t expect an answer to a question you shouldn’t ask.
So show a smile, everyone, don’t you love being free?
Remember to speck softly,…
Galeria de Héroes: A blade of grass(Brian Patten) →
You ask for a poem.
I offer you a blade of grass.
You say it is not good enough.
You ask for a poem.
I say this blade of grass will do.
It has dressed itself in frost,
It is more immediate
Than any image of my making.
You say it is not a poem,
It is a blade of grass and grass
Is not quite good…
Come As You Are: I know this girl... →
She doesn’t say much but it’s not because she doesn’t have the words - she has a wonderful way with words when she forgets to be afraid that everything she says will come out wrong, that it will be misinterpreted and twisted and turned into a weapon against her.
She is bright but she doesn’t…
lost ideals: I sit here all alone, now so cold.I watched the new world around me,... →
I sit here all alone, now so cold.
I watched the new world around me, grow so old.
I used to hold a smile, oh so carefully.
But I had to let it go, and fly away free.
I am so tired, and this world feels the same.
This is the last spark, of what was once a beautiful flame.
The end has come,…
the air is colored gold, and oh so still,
the shadows drifting like ghosts, so unreal.
I can hear my heart beat, sounds like thunder in my ears.
The rain starts to fall, the silver clouds salty tears.
This is the wild, the quite we hold inside,
This is the start, of all things alive.
We are all born of silence, and to silence is where we return.
this is the quite, for witch we all yearn.
She paints a pretty picture
but this picture has a twist
you see.. her paintbrush is a razor
and her canvas is her wrist
she paints her pretty picture
in a color that’s blood red
while using her sharp paintbrush
she ends up finally dead
her pretty pictures fading
quite slowly on her arm
the blood is not racing through her
she can no longer do harm
she painted her pretty picture
but her picture had a twist
you see her mind was the razor
and her heart was just her wrist- Amy Efaw: After
lost ideals: Look at all of us dancing, to the steps of the game.Trying so hard, to... →
lost ideals: Your photoI was going through my closest, and I fond your picture... →
Your photo
I was going through my closest, and I fond your picture today.
Brought back all that pain, I thought I had put away.
All those tears, I use to cry,
It turned my perfect day, into a lie.
I guess time has passed, and we both moved on.
And the time we used to share, is so far gone.
But…
The child can become conscious only if in his past life he has meditated enough, has created enough meditative energy to fight with the darkness that death brings. One simply is lost in an oblivion and then suddenly finds a new womb and forgets completely about the old body. There is a discontinuity. This darkness, this unconsciousness creates the discontinuity. The East has been working hard to penetrate these barriers. And ten thousand years’ work has not been in vain. Everybody can penetrate to the past life, or many past lives. But for that you have to go deeper into your meditation, for two reasons: unless you go deeper, you cannot find the door to another life; secondly, you have to be deeper in meditation because if you find the door of another life, a flood of events will come into the mind. It is hard enough even to carry one life…
— Osho (via lucifelle)
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