Shadow of supremacy

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 They stand against the light to cast shadows, that make our paths dark, it’s no wonder we got lost on our way home. We once sat on gold thrones, now we beg thieves for a place in our own home…

we’ve been taught to fight their shadows, with the shade we throw, while the grave they dug for us grows and grows…Go to their schools to borrow our own ideas, the innovators become imitators, in hopes to integrate, into their hateful ways..  

 When they can’t break us, they’ll force us to bend, and blend, into the violent trends they set without regrets. They’ll pretend to be our friends, tell us they mean “no offence” …while keeping our very being misunderstood.

Until we end up in a shadow war with no end. Cast by burning crosses ,pointed hoods…and fear 

 

A Pegasus perplexus 

A zebra, made to stand out, forever wild and free.

It seeks to rid itself of those that would ride on its back.

It strives to know it’s stripes, not to earn them…

For with that wisdom comes a new genesis of elegance, the birth of the peagusus.

Made to fly high above life’s perplexus…controlling the reins of its own destiny… Reigned over by no man.

 

Forever wild and free…

 

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Fake flowers 

Dear inventor of fake flowers, why?

I understand that maybe you just wanted to capture beauty and keep it forever,

but don’t you let people believe that looks will last.

Didn’t you realise that there is beauty in aging,

that there is character to the bunch with a few wilting stems?

You can’t trick me into believing that there is beauty in perfection,

see I’ve tried to reach it and failed many times.

Starved of water, we all die,

so how can pretty be pretty without the spark of alive?

See, this bunch may have been beautiful at first glance,

but I’ve had it for years now and nothings changed.

No new sprouts, no death-

No need to nurture and love for that won’t affect these fakes.

I don’t even look at them anymore.

Beautiful as they may be, they are less beautiful to me knowing that this is all that they will ever be.

Dear lover,

please don’t ever buy me fake flowers with the hope that I will feel comforted by everlasting beauty.

Buy me ones that will die.

One’s that I will therefore cherish for every moment that they are alive,

One’s with bruised petals and wilting stems but still fragrant so that I can see that beautiful is more than meets the eye.

Dear inventor of fake flowers, why?

Poetry by the amazingly talented https://fontsize4poetry.com

Blossom 

As I shift my focus towards what the lotus shows us,

I start to notice so much more,

its like hocus pocus and I’m free from the locust swarm of the norm,

returning to the form In which was born.

A new seed planted in my mind.

I Fertilised my perspective, to be less selective.

I now adore what I once abhorred.

I looked past the lies, and found I could photosynthesise… because that light inside us all…seems to be the only thing that feeds my eyes at all.
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why she hid

she hid her face, though she was niether timid nor ashamed…

niether was she meek,  nor tame…

she felt there was a lot more to her picture than just the frame…

there was nothing to hide, but so much more to see inside…

so she hid the face she had, beacasue…

she felt she was making it easier to see the soul she was…

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Beautiful Struggle

so much beauty…you would struggle to see, but be left in awe once you saw it… I watched myself profit from my plummet…

Encouraged  by contagiously courageous condemnation,  inspired by painstakingly painful perspicacity…

What gave me the audacity, to stay, to face it… I had to face it, I could never escape it, through empty glasses, or an overflowing ash tray…the storm always passes, to reveal evermore joyous days…

beautiful cliches, describe all the romantic realizations… I struggle to say…

What gave me the grace, to stay…grateful, humble…to seek not trouble, when I stumbled, to burst only the bubbles, that confined I… My life-style has been ruled by error and trail, so my eye, must Seek truth, until ONE can no longer hide behind Denial…

I changed my mind to find;

The true intentions behind ,the whimsical lies of life, the tranquil amidst the turmoil, the strength in each stumble, the air within the bubble, the relics among the rubble…all that is beautiful within, my struggle

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Peice of my mind 

The mind;

a battle field, for the worrier warrior, who draws the will he wields from his soul sheath, while hiding behind his ego shield.

Fighting for a sense of security, defending a feeling of purity, descending and transcending maturity. An odyssey not for the eyes to see, just time zones redefined by a mind blown, as the worrier fights to align the crown.
The brain;

a vast network of ever growing chains , the worriers bane,as he approaches insane…

Fighting to figure out how to eat love, somewhere in-between the stomach and the heart, torn apart, by hard fought thoughts of heaven and hell, hard thoughts sought out where his conscience may dwell. He may well, free all the great warriors, trapped in his grey cells…

A thought;

The pen and the sword that are equally mighty, that colour and carve the warrior worriers reality…

Fighting for a glimpse of clarity, while fighting reality. A missile from a mile away, a beacon beaming through the darkest day, that of which , could guide the blind , and on its way, destroy every last remaining peace …of mind

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The mad men I met

I met  preacher man, who would twist his own philosophy, purposely, to make short term profit off a long term prophecy.

I met a bunch of bankers ,that toppled the economy

I met a politician, with his vision, so impaired, he was unaware, of his hypocrisy, trying to force democracy, using guns and bureaucracy

Hell…I even met a martyr with a life insurance policy…

 

With words 

I’ve been told I have a way with words …now  I wonder; 
Is it because I’m always getting carried away with words?
Maybe Because I tend to get my way with words; 
and when my diction turns frictional and rubs someone up the wrong way, I tend to get away, with words… 
It might even be because, when My mind was dull, and my life was null, I managed to find my way, with words… 

Growing up 

When I was a little boy, the world were my play ground. And words was my toys.

 I loved people for free, problems were only stories, I would tell to trees. My future full of positive possibilities, I saw in my dreams. 
That little boy still L ives somewhere within me, it seems, every now and then he shows up…

That little boy…Is who I want to be when I grow up.