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Void's Poetry

Migrated topic.
While my determinations are harsh,
My treatment is compassion.
While my bias is negativity,
My desired effect, is positivity.
While I steep in the "darkness,"
My emmenation is "light."
While I feel the weight of the world,
My movement is like a feather.
While I feel like I've stalled,
My state has only progressed.
While my strength is like the elephant,
My finess is like the spider.
While I remain dour,
My intention is to bring happiness.
While I know nothing,
My mind understands much.
While I view myself as weak,
My striving maintains resilience.
While I am who I am,
My experience and being is ever changing.
I am balanced.
I am paradox.

One love
 
Kaleidoscope of consciousness,
Parascopes into being,
I don't know where I am.
Myriad possibilities,
Confounding fields of perception.
There is only paradox,
Inside and outside,
The expanse of my phenomenology.
Infinite gradients,
Circular spectrums,
Mobius systems,
It falls back on itself,
As it expands.
Where am I?
Torrential phantasmagoria,
Parmenides would laugh.

One love
 
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Consciousness unbound, mental and somatic reveries, peeling back the layers.

A clandestine pursuit, shrouded in mystery, the eyes see in the dark.

The depths within holding doors to something else.

Step through.

Step Through.

STEP THROUGH.

Reality unleashed, orders of magnitude experienced with simultaneity.

The mind white knuckling with knuckles it no longer has access to.

A rush, is there a breath? Is there breathing?

Surrendering and letting go, it no longer matters.

Fractal renderings of beings beyond mind.

Beings beyond this corporeal realm.

An eidetic black hole, akin to a dream.

But not a dream, seemingly a deeper “reality.”

What is this?

There are many claims, laden with conviction.

But this is an epistemic nightmare.

Anything one may claim to know, they can be confident they don’t.

One love
 
A simple plane, bounded axis of symmetry.

Folds leave their scars, novelty emergent of that tumultuous history.

Collapsed intricacies to build anew, creases become filigree.

Embrace flaws or yield to eternity.
 
Embedding myself in silence,
Quietly imploding,
Falling into the void,
This void of self.
With a myriad of tears,
A veil of symbolism.
Each one a unique prism,
Appreciating some emotion,
Some awareness,
Some state,
They flow.
With maniacal laughter,
And the occasional joyous,,
They flow.
Committed to the silence,
Remaining curious,
Of whatever may,
Float to the surface.
Committed to the silence,
When it's painfully loud.
Falling into the void.


One love
 
The liminal
The in-between spaces
This is where I exist
Juggling metaphysical presuppositions
I am a paradigm hopper
Sitting in the void
Of the unknown
And of the forlorn interactions
That which many a mind take for granted
Or perhaps don't even see
Noticing the minute subtle gradients
That flux in both the non-physical and physical.
The possibility they flow from one to another.
There must be another principle at play.
And not a law,
But something deeper.
Something that I can not name.
The liminal
The in-between spaces.
This is where I exist.

One love
 
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I'm wondering - do you write these the old skool, analog way, with marks on flat surface, before entering them into the digisphere?

Your last piece inspired me, and my first instinct was to reach for a pencil and paper, despite having an ostensible "writing" device right here at my fingertips. A comparison on this point would be much appreciated <3
 
Transform said:
I'm wondering - do you write these the old skool, analog way, with marks on flat surface, before entering them into the digisphere?

Your last piece inspired me, and my first instinct was to reach for a pencil and paper, despite having an ostensible "writing" device right here at my fingertips. A comparison on this point would be much appreciated <3
Click to expand...
I tend to write them in a notepad app then share them here. When I write most of these, it's a very spontaneous experience, so the digisphere aid is welcome. Writing is more intimate I find though.

One love
 
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A natural propitiation,
My follies aside.
My lessons are ones,
Of over-abundance;
Too much of a good thing.
Scattered into pieces,
Collecting them before,
The gale passes,
And the pieces are no more.
But should they be collected?
Should I not simply,
Regain what I can,
Without fret,
Unfraught?
Some of these pieces,
May be of little utility,
Any longer.
How do I pick?
How do I choose?
Perhaps it matters not,
Allowing the cards,
To fall where they may,
Without analysis,
Without control.
Not necessarily destiny.
Something more.

One love
 
A philosophic well,
Fracturing into many,
Nested, recursive, fractilic.
The safety tether,
Shredded and torn,
Frayed and broken,
Long ago.
No oxygen,
For a while, now.
I feel guilt,
For I'm able to meet,
But rarely feel met.
I can't turn back,
Pressing forward,
Am I onto something?
Anything?
Or merely losing my mind?
The consideration,
Of the combination,
Is not neglected.
I am but a fragment,
In this place of isolation

One love
 
Skr9 said:
I'm reading these poems now and crying. It's very touching. Keep going, don't stop. I like your creativity.
Click to expand...
It warms my heart deeply to know they are impacting you. ❤️🙏🏽
I hope they continue to.
I may have more in the pipeline. I've been laying on my shakti mat first thing in the morning to ease my back pain and it's a good time to write poetry. Also fires my brain up a bit for the day.

Much love.

One love
 
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