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It’s a kind of Magic

Behold, the black witch inside her!
“For one day she will realize her true powers to the full and command her random intents.
And, so the ‘magic’ of her possession will  will cause the chaos to come,all those toxic around her will tumble.

Bruised and scarred
They will all roll away.

The witch inside her will turn in on  herself and become a tiny black , pincered  scorpion. If she is  arrested under a great ultra light she will glow.
Yes, she will  glow fluorecently so, and  appear other worldly and of  exceptional brilliance. That is when she will  decide  sting herself to the death.

The End

Or  not….
maybe   she will  use her power to create ‘real magic’ that sings with a beating heart-one full of  love and acceptance.

This. Is.The. End.
Doors close.

These are my words part 10

Deity

A smudge, a mark on those dissident souls who dared enrage the olypiums with a cry for mercy.

Crimes captured in , mud clay, paint , words, thoughts , emotions – indulged passions strewn over Bacchus shrine.

A brief Collison

The Thunder bolts,

The snow blizzards,

The rain

bows, illuminating deities with human mannerisms scowling stares

A Compelling spectacle – a free fall for all denied access to an Olympian banquet

Persephone lingers loftily draped in a seed sewn solemn shawl

This sabbatical reunion reveals her true fabric fertile & willing to share.

Soiled sapian of sand doomed to a prom thesis saloon for the forgotten , the abandoned

a gumboot dance off -The patron muse of Genocide –

Our namesakes never forgotten.

Latin ized, hubri sized, hibridized, sacrificed, sodomized.

Sacrificial slaughterhouse our ancestors offered up our mothers, sons and daughters

Faith a wake for piles upon piles of ignorance a holocaust of corpses cremated on the pyres of unknown sires

Faith adrift the bells and whistles promised to those lovers lost to the after life

Her Grace.

partly concealed

partly revealed

The dichotomy of lace.

propaganda tree

Random reflections.

We shouldn’t be afraid to reach our full potential in life and blossom. Yet we do. Are we so scared of decay and rot and to be forgotten? 

Seems that way.

We must not fight what and whom we were born to be. 

Why do I have to pick the one tree that I love, over all the other ones, that is only with us briefly?

A blossom tree

 

I wanted to get married under one. There is something so ethereal about them when I see them at the height of their beauty.

Falling petals.

The moment they seem most exquisite is when they are closer to death than life.

I see the beauty in death.

I see the beauty in life.

I researched what the Blossom tree has been used for as a symbol.

In Japan, in world war 2,

It became the symbol of patriotism to the Japanese people.

They too see how fleeting life is. All the more to live it with great deep breaths and with as much gusto and energy as one can.

LIVE!

 

What does piss me off is the propaganda the government spread around beliefs of the blossom tree.

As poetic as it sounds: It is said that people were encouraged to believe that when the souls of warriors died, they came back as blossom flowers.

A lovely notion but this is on a par with Roman rhetoric. It is a manipulation and I hate seeing the words – Nature and manipulation standing together.

But can the two exist without the other?

I think, let flowers live and be what they are.

Let us humans live and be what we are.

Humans with a  heightened awareness of the fragility of life,

are the ones that put the humane inhumaneness.

We don’t need to be any other but ourselves to stand out and be beautiful.

Look how magnificent we look when we coexist with nature.

Appreciate what we have today.

Our beauty in all its manifestations from the second we shine never leaves us -not even in physical death.

Yes.

It does transform.

Transformation is not a bad thing.

Revel in each one.

 

I

Always closer to death but rocking the Wabi-Sabi philosophy.

“Wabi-sabi reminds us that we are all transient beings on this planet—that our bodies, as well as the material world around us, are in the process of returning to dust.

Nature’s cycles of growth, decay, and erosion are embodied in frayed edges, rust, liver spots. Through wabi-sabi, we learn to embrace both the glory and the melancholy found in these marks of passing time.”

http://www.utne.com/mind-and-body/wabi-sabi.aspx

Beautiful because I am withered.

The fabric of Daisy

Daisy wake up

Trends need not dictate this an essential need

Shake off slumbers veil

Success is never found in a blind fools dream

Daisy wake up

Or walk down that outdated well trodden path –

adorned with familiar perilous pain

an old haunt languishing in rags of ruin

Impart a funfair of heartache its sole profit -all yours to gain.

Never to find the seeds of hope

Never to nurture the growth of a place to call home

Never to venture into pastures only future horizons can show

Daisy wake up

Watch the ceiling of creativity dissolve

Watch the truth of your words stagnate in a river polluted by moments spent

On outdated memories

over bloated corpses floating upwards willing you to give them a second glance.

Daisy wake up

Are you willing to drown against the current of change

Are you willing to obscure your voice to clouds of doubt

whitewash all your words as a some garment crafted but in vain

Bears in man cuff

Walking with man cuffs round the 4 edges of these walls

and every reflection i gaze into

Al I see is those beaten ,bloody paws

the ones that climb into me even when i scream out

I am worth more.

I seek for a relief from this constant itching to feel sweet relief for a few hours

I long for a moment when I can look in the mirror and not see a pair of eyes lower and cowers .

I am

I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.
Wonders if my life  purpose is to laugh and tease.

I hear the hair raising scream
I see the  barbed wire , a body electrocuted   two feet away from my mortal skin

I want to avert my eyes – It never happened , pretend all is okay.
I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I pretend to be helpless
I feel I repeatedly sin. Stuck in a mind that can’t  learn from mistakes.
I worry the world is passing me by, time doesnt care if I can’t leave the past to drift off out of peripheral vision.

I cry because I am to blame for feeling insignificant.
I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I understand my insight is a double edged sword
I say I have courage yet honestly I’m  not sure how much.
I dream to travel away from the houses visited each slumber night. Subconscious give me solitide.
I try to be funny, charismatic and loyal.
I hope the people I hold dear to me won’t  leave me
Though I  suspect they will.
I am the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve.

I am daisy

Daughter of Rose

Who needs love, loyalty, laughter

Who loves music, silence, decadence

Who sees lonely people, people better off, empty glasses once full of hope

Who hates curves on herself, being misunderstood, bad odour

Who fears abandonment, rejection, gossips too

Who dreams of career growth, success, beauty to blossom from within

Who has found forgotten poems, memory gaps, words unable to recognise as her own

Resident of no fixed abode

Willows

Garden Fascinator

Write to be something I’m not feeling.

Not nothing

A sense I’ve lost details planning how to plot.

Stand mid-sentence

tongue ties all thoughts

Need a referendum to figure what to prioritize first.

These are my words

They grow like weeds amongst the Garden fascinators.

Smoke break

Every

Every time I write down words,

Ending in a half sentence with no meaning like this one.

Eventually the reader will realise I’m taking the Mick.

Every single word on this page

Each one is absolutely pointless.

Egg me on, I dare you

Especially as I’m clearly hard to ignore because you’re still reading this.

Elements are as tangible as these words transpired with indefinable clarity.

Ergo I must now go

Evening awaits , I anticipate clear skies

Early morning we’ll need to say our goodbyes

Evidently we all have lives to live. Thanks for reading this load of sh**.