this is the first poem i've written since elementary school.
Poem for english class by _____ _____
When given the choice i couldn’t buy in; as appealing as the comforts sound, everything i hear sounds like self-deceit; too many hypocrites and too many conflicting stories to become another sheep. The path i started one new years eve brings mystic tales and a renewed hope i might take the leap and see beyond me to my self. i think i can, but that’s the problem.
Now that i have these tales in mind, perceived negating juxtapositions fade to reveal the one tale, retold. Now that i have this end in mind, the question arises of the means.
As i yearn for unification, i can’t conceal the call of the cubes but the stigma imposed compels me to pass up all but ideal opportunities – too few and far between.
So i sit with the trees or in the dark and try to remain Present, but i remain and try to turn my head to get a glimpse of the source of the shadows dancing on my wall, my world and try to shine a light on my shadow to discover what resides and what it hides and try to surrender personas and thought patterns to recognize the ubiquitous transpersonal divine but satori proves elusive… so far.
Modern appeals to so-called “higher” functions refute archaic understandings and eternal truths. As this new pervasive internal acceptance surfaces and i find myself exploring new and old perspectives, i’m impelled to seek guidance from those who came before. But who might now the best path for me? do i seek gurus and yogis? do i seek the Learys and Mckennas? do i seek shamen and medicine men? do i seek those i denied those years ago? or do i dare not ask and seek my own path?
“I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm, to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow to feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain, to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human.”
___________________________________________________________________ this is the second.
The Poem Without a Title
This poem has a title; giggles.
-------------------- My words, too, are only an echo; but there is no reason why I should not repeat what I have heard. -Socrates Let the rabbits wear glasses!
 
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