fork

Lost in a breath,
Wandering.

Which is.
the path?

I ponder sadness,
does it have true meaning?

if emptyness.
is the greatest joy?

I wonder.
do you?

I see happiness.
but it is empty.

But I.
am told,
such is Life.

1 million thoughts...

 One million thoughts drowned the megalithic crown that ruled the land of linguistics. Text message terrorists confused the youth of it's language. They began to loose art of conversation while trapped in digital worlds, of light and vibration. Whats the use of vocal cords when you can read and try to emulate emotion through letters on a small screen. a customized tone for the bell, toning sanctuary a reminder that we are not in misery.

 We spent decades trying to master the art of telepathy just to be distracted by cell phonic frequency, but we remain a glitched freak in the system. Trying to find methods of communication with inhabitants, consumed by holy spirits. The answers are sealed within relics and pigments from centuries old when once one finds the essence of word is no longer bold.

 When true emotions get lost in translation text messages fail to convey ripples of silence,
 broken by ring tones.

My Sands

I once whispered words to a grain of sand, it multiplied into a vast sea of sand which later became an ocean floor.

they never wrote books about me and credited these feats, to myths and gods.

unattached to the fable, I brush the facts off my shoulders for it brings joy to see all the people enjoying what I had left for them.

Please stop polluting the water which houses my sand that you play on, and craft into glass.

LKCP2KXIV

Sometimes

Sometimes, I don't know wrong from right, Left from tears. One mind torn into pieces. scattered across the landscape. They prayed. I felt like all my marbles were lost or stolen. fragmented in a piece of paper, secretly I hide underneath my tongue. I have seen beyond the lands of demons, and seen through gates of heavens. yet the truth still remains true to only the believer, if one is of its own blood a seeker. My teacher once told me. the true teacher is your heart. yet it is the most difficult, to master. but if you can learn the art of hearing each other, the teacher and student as One. become a master. only then will the ears, be ready to hear the cosmic organs. strumming from the heavens.

Just

Contemplating surrender thoughts to silence, I ponder past seeing visions of presence. The mirror presents itself in my current States of mind, being heart one with soul. Preserverance through tests of times as enemies become allies as their voices carry throughout the silence.

Shatter all memoirs of ill intent others bestowing to cast away what light is left of a wick that holds no wax to bind its' light. But for that brief second...it seems as if the ignites raw illumination.

Once blinded by the hands of time whispered nothings, to hold onto false hope, or what leads a man or woman to believe truth is the path of the wicked.

Salvation is nothing but a dream for the dweller, smelted within the glasses of helter-skelter, to seek beyond pillars, as All answers eminence from the beating sutra of the heart.

see the purity of my sons eyes and it reminds me of us all, so innocently blind of ourselves hidden behind the self. Accused of sleep walking, I am a self proclaimed sleepwalker living the dream.

Through humility a new found humbleness awakening from the nothing that shelters itself from the paths, or was it one for All?

LKCP2kXiV