All the loss condensed in a single drop, the pain built up released in a gentle trickle. One by one the brokenness escapes, watering the soil to ready the new growth.
The world around is a reflection of self,full of smiles, laughs, tears and screams.As self is reflected, the fake is filtered from the truth. What truth one grasps is that which reflects back,the fake filtered out by eyes that see.The only truth that is left to hold,is the pain of a heart broken in three.
As the world around appears still,Ones self firmly anchored in space.Those loose fragments testify to the true state,Dancing with the chaos that envelops. To let the loose fragments grow freely,to not keep them tied close to self,is to let they who pass by see what is true,to void the mask of it’s power.
Wafting across the valley,patches of earth’s skin escaping through.The fog choosing what is seen,what is hidden.Forever changing it’s mind,showing something new, hiding something old. The master stroking his brush across the skin,Painting a picture for this moment, painting a new one for the next. Beauty effused by a veil worn loosely,flowing with the breath of …
Blocking out the swirling howl,that moment of peace in solace.Bringing comfort from the world around,but can’t escape the whirl within.Yet in the moment the padding envelops,retracting me from the surrounding howl,bringing the first moment of peace long yearned,the first sigh within that brings relief.
Removing the walls, if but for a moment. Letting go of the ropes we think are making us strong. Releasing our heart to feel that which we hide deep inside. Letting that tear escape, setting it free.
Journeying to the edge of a floating precipice. Losing oneself to the infinite embrace of the open horizon.Searching. Seeking. Escaping.Longing to be able to release those three words.All is well. Stepping into visions of emptiness.Allowing the vast nothingness to envelop.Floating. Falling. Escaping.Longing to be able to release those three words.All is well.
The surface lays still, unencumbered by the passing storm.The light quickly fading, outside and in.The ashes of hope are wafting away.No dreams be left to lose oneself in.
What is this line? Where does it take me?Into the fog-laden hills ahead.The road descends into a blur.Is there a valley, a hill or a cliff approaching?Or just plains of nothingness?Mediocrity haunts me more than cliffs and valleys.I cannot see without taking another step.But what is that step leading to?A burning heart.One part anxious expectation …