Anne

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There is a young girl

who stays with me

beneath the the trees

and trickling streams

~

She sees a star

and gives it a name

~

As though it were

the only light

to ever grace

the sky this night

~

I thank her for

her love of words

and they way they walk

along our tongue

~

Softly

 with such purpose

folding into prose

and poems about the sun

Down she goes

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Who are you really

in the surface of your mind?

For your depths remain a secret

sprinkled into the night

like fragments 

from another world

You have inherited time my friend

as tired stars do rest upon

your bed of endless woe

You wear the face of a fading comet

seeking out the villagers below

And like a magnet meeting the Earth’s core

your smile bleeds 

towards the black 

beneath the trees

Plummeting 

reaching desperately for the sun

Long gone it is

from your hands

and so far from a time

in which you called it friend 

 

Thoughts on Meditation

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On my way to meditation class I felt the urge to drive into a tree. On the way home I just wanted to drive.

Some days are like that. It’s like experiencing blindness with too much visual stimulation. Walking around as the ultimate contradiction.

Meditate. Strip it all away. Peel back all the pieces you thought really mattered and stop to feel the ground beneath your feet. Don’t just know that it’s there like some concept you can analyse.

At least once a day, find the truth behind all the ideas.

At least once a day, find some time to find you.

 

 

strangers in a sea of cameras

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the world has made us strangers

lips without lipstick

and I am without a name

~

what will they call me when my life is spent?

when I am buried

or worse

burnt

cast out into the wind

~

for there are no mirrors beyond the time of death

no facebook

no instagram

~

the earth cannot validate this mind

that cries out for a compliment 

~

the wind cannot caress this face

when all I am is ash