CPoetry

born as a root... cradled by the God-trunk... awakened as a branch... enlightened as a leaf. ::: Love was Newton's Fourth Law; Four every action, there is a greater and opposite reaction. ::: the other day i worshipped in a church, in a synagogue, in a mosque, in a temple, and next to a shrine; the other day i spoke with five people. i surrendered to their hymns, to their trop, to their azan, to their chants, to their stotras. each one, individually. all sum, collectively;  the five-dot face of a single dice thrown by an existential hand. ::: would you allow a diamond to fall into a tar pit, to watch it transform into a pearl? let go, so that you may fill yourself opaque when you were transparent before, and heal yourself round when you were jagged prior. then, you were tough. now, you are enough.

it is a walking thing; may you catch a glimpse. may you lap it numerously. in this uncircumstantial race the walking thing need no time, no speed, no pace. may you catch a glimpse, may you slow up purposely. in this inexplicable race the walking thing seek your time, your need, a space. may you find a breath, may you break undoubtedly--- the chase. may you walk beside it. may you surpass it impatiently. in this unconditional race the walking thing will wait for you, forever, just in case. may you ever slow down, love will crown you proudly--- with grace. ::: the inflated envelope of your mind is confined by its gores and categorized by its panels. deadweight propane tanks and an ignorant basket fuel and carry redundant thoughts. you control the burner. ascending to kiss your freedom, right? not exactly. you are the inexperienced pilot  when you have a safe landing. ~ it is not what is inside a hot air balloon that needs to be rele

make all of yourself taste; make further yourself not a tongue but a completely whole taste bud. (or so Intuition told me.) ::: yeah, i knew a man once. he was a local. down at Wendella's Diner. always sat in the same spot. ordered his coffee black but he put sugar in it. no cream. usually people who order black coffee prefer no cream and no sugar because they like the taste. bitter. so, i sat with him one Sunday morning and talked. after some casual exchanges, i asked him: "Herb, (his name is Herbert. but everyone calls him Herb.) i have to ask...curiosity killed the cat but...why do you put sugar in your black coffee? i only ask because, i haven't seen many people do that." he answered with this: "It's quite alright. For one, curiosity never kills. It captivates the cat. Secondly, I do it because it makes the coffee bittersweet. Every morning I come here, sit in this spot by the window

although inappropriate and unnecessary, the pronouns of "You" and "i" will be used when i say this: You-and-i are an orange rose; it is only when an orange rose wilts and loses its thirst You-and-i are no longer an orange rose but yellow at the pedals' base and red at their curled lips; it is only after Death that You  -and-  i are visual. until then, what exists is the essence of one color ---orange. ::: Beloved or beloved. outspoken or coveted. worshipped or whispered. One matters or Many at once. there is a Home,  or there is a home. a Place or a place. Road Hailed or road traveled. A Kindness or a kindness--- there should only be one kind; We Love and we love. All matter. All always All. ::: "Runners to your mark. Set---" POW! your fears Stay ahead of andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase andchase a