The mind rests in mourning,
like soft mildew in the fog of winter.
Finally aware of the dark seed within it.
A seed which has sprouted, spread, and tangled throughout;
growing like a tumour;
a cancerous, malignant, destructive web of black;
tightening its grip around the mind –
in an attempt to defend the very thing of which it destroys.
The monstrous seed sits inconspicuously;
at the centre –
Conducting with ease the orchestra of its lifeless musicians.
Stare at fear itself.
It does not want to die.
I love how ants build nests taller than humans build their skyscrapers
I love how creases of pants remind of nature’s constant fluidity
I love how the well worn door knob feels cold, but smooth against my palm
I love the clinking of its latch as it calls out do not enter
I love the stinging icy wind that spins off fan blades in the winter
I love the crackling sound of vinyl as needles bounce Holiday like a printer
I love the way red wine and cigarettes pepper the air like peaceful solitude
I love the spark of reminiscence while adding honey to my tea
I love the networked trees
I love everything
that isn’t me
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As I witness the most beautiful sunset I have ever experienced
I can’t help but ponder the stilling surreality of this magnificent planet.
The sky is filled with an amazing array of colour –
warm oranges and dark pinks morph into seductive shades of gold.
Streaks of light glow from the same pallet and twist
around mountainous cloud formations
that perfectly compliment the jagged landscapes with which they dance.
I dare not take a photograph
no man-made technology could ever hope
to reproduce something so profound
as this moment
which has arisen in my percept
as if it were gifted to me by my creator
intended to be experienced and never re-lived.
As I take in this incredible sight, I can’t help but contemplate
the seemingly uncanny perfection
of a beautiful life-harbouring planet
floating alone in a cold and desolate solar system.
It dawns on me that we Humans are living in Heaven
and we so often fail to recognise it.
The possessions of the dead – stare and haunt.
Green leaves so wet,
drip recent rain.
I want to grasp and clutch and feel
water running through my veins.
We are Nature.
We are all carried by the living after we die. Existing in reality – the now – through the actions, thoughts and words of the people on whom we have made impressions – manifesting as a quote, a memory or a particular nuance of behaviour that someone close to us has taken and chosen to make it part of them. We are like little seeds of consciousness that sprout and spread and fuse with other forms of consciousness. In the end we are all working together; we are all contributors to the future evolution of life; we are immortal – yet each of us has only a flicker of time to set our stages.
beautiful, black, orange and sprawled –
sits at the centre of his well spun prism of steel strong web.
Invincible, like a king.
Consuming anything and everything that enters his selfish trap.
He seethes as the pesticide invades his being –
twitching, resisting, this cannot be.
Falling to the ground – broken, withered, bound;
death cries imminent.
Who am I?