poetry
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Once you stop seeking, it will manifest. What You seekHas already found you.It’s with You this moment. Don’t let it confound you.You’re the Creator. The World is in You. Once You figure that out,You tell IT what to do!
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It’s your day, again, Love. Did you think I’d forget? I love you more than I’d Like to admit. You’re all I care to think of today. Your beauty is there for the world, On display. By Morning, you’re Lucifer, By night, you’re my date. I better get ready now. Don’t want to be late.
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It’s insane to me that God designed the lies, To make it harder to find the Truth. It’s a game of Hide-and-seek He’s playing with Himself.
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Every step is perfect. Every move divine. Yes, even that one. Relax. Everything is fine. Just try not to worry because That’s when things get dark. If you trust that things will work out, They will. God provides an ark.
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Does this look like it’s reflecting light to you? What an absurd claim. Tuesdays are for Mars.So I won’t drive a car.I’ll just sit here and war with Me.Cause that’s the way We are.I hope you praise Him too today.It helps us to observeThe same rituals we practiced MILLENNIA agoWhen we had but One to…
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I search for external help, Because I can’t find it within. I don’t know how to get through this. It feels like I’ll never win. But that’s a trick of the mind. If I think that way, I won’t. I have to be as sure of my success As I was the day I chose…
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https://x.com/i/status/2000932824308965647
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Someone’s shaking Sophia. Better stop them quick. We can’t afford for her to awaken. We need this dream to stick. For how can we grow Without this realm? It happens rather slowly. And existence is all about growth, don’t you know? And everything in it is holy.
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The Spirit of the ForestIs real, can you not hear?If you listen very closelyThe truth is crystal clear.The forest, it is talkingEven to human ears.Don’t err in just assumingIt’s not for you to hear. I just realized that Pan is “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” which was Syd Barrett-led Pink Floyd’s first album.
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I used to live in RomeIn an alabaster home.Then one day got evictedBy a man who’d been convictedOf kidnapping little animalsDoing unholy thingsLike trying to puff the puffer fishAnd make platypuses sing. This was buried in my drafts. I have no memory of writing it.
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I write myself poems that I know can be helpful to others and I share them, not at ALL to put myself above anyone else, but to help all of us figure this out together. When I have it totally figured out, I will let you know, but it will not be soon. It’s inevitable…
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What can I do to feel better, God?I’m spiraling now. I’m alone.What can I do to feel better, Lord?I guess I’ll just write a poem.I hope that it helps.The pain is intense.And I have no clue why I hurt.But I have to get through tomorrow to knowI really feel I have no choice.I just have…
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Relax, little child. Everything will always be Perfectly okay.
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Sophia’s busy dreaming. It is supposed to be this way.Don’t anyone dare wake Her.We have a game to play.
Musings of the Mad 