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The Beauty & The Mystery
Written by rh in portal Poetry & Free Verse

sacrament

When I first stood over the

grave of youth, uncertain

a crow perched himself

upon the crooked cross

motioned his beak as

if to give last rites and

sacrament

“Do you know, fool boy,

what to say to the ferryman?”

I crossed my chest, considered

his question, shook my head 

“Not coin, nor offering.

Not blood, nor bravery.

“It is but a word, yet still

a weapon, a danger.

“Utter this, fool boy,

and you will know.

“The garden. The valley.

The soil of creation.

“The man at the gate

fancies himself a saint.

“He will ask a question

scripted in iron, in stone.

“Do not let your eyes

waiver and say ‘No’.”

I thanked him and

went on my way

telling him that

I would rather burn

in the truth

than sing with the 

lies 

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The Beauty & The Mystery
Written by rh in portal Poetry & Free Verse
sacrament
When I first stood over the
grave of youth, uncertain

a crow perched himself
upon the crooked cross

motioned his beak as
if to give last rites and

sacrament

“Do you know, fool boy,
what to say to the ferryman?”

I crossed my chest, considered
his question, shook my head 

“Not coin, nor offering.
Not blood, nor bravery.

“It is but a word, yet still
a weapon, a danger.

“Utter this, fool boy,
and you will know.

“The garden. The valley.
The soil of creation.

“The man at the gate
fancies himself a saint.

“He will ask a question
scripted in iron, in stone.

“Do not let your eyes
waiver and say ‘No’.”

I thanked him and
went on my way

telling him that
I would rather burn

in the truth
than sing with the 

lies 
#poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality  #firstdraft  #fuckery 
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We lost a lot with the passing of Chris Cornell. To many, he was a mentor, a brilliant writer; an inimitable voice. Until June 30th, this challenge is for the friends and fans to write their stories, poems, tributes: anything about him. We will be putting together a book for the Cornell family, of the posts entered, as well as making copies available for purchase, donating all proceeds to suicide prevention. In partnership with Seattle Refined, the most shared post will be read on air, and posted on seattlerefined.com.
Written by Yppab-Demha in portal Seattle Refined

Higher Above Death

"I saw the heaven

when it makes

a gloomy sense in the blues sky

I felt the heaven

when I wander

silent in your sleep

Moon in the outside

reading your dream

And I'm searching

the piece of poetry

that supposed to be

the higher sense of the heaven

In my head,

I'm watching the clouds

rolling over in my sight

In my vein,

I'm pushing the torment

feeding the hungry blood

I can't be the spurious mind

I would be a ramble silence

Moon in the outside

Reading your dream

And I’m looking for free highway

that supposed to be

Freedom footing above the heaven"

Written on: 24 May 2017

Tribute to Chris Cornell 

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We lost a lot with the passing of Chris Cornell. To many, he was a mentor, a brilliant writer; an inimitable voice. Until June 30th, this challenge is for the friends and fans to write their stories, poems, tributes: anything about him. We will be putting together a book for the Cornell family, of the posts entered, as well as making copies available for purchase, donating all proceeds to suicide prevention. In partnership with Seattle Refined, the most shared post will be read on air, and posted on seattlerefined.com.
Written by Yppab-Demha in portal Seattle Refined
Higher Above Death
"I saw the heaven
when it makes
a gloomy sense in the blues sky
I felt the heaven
when I wander
silent in your sleep

Moon in the outside
reading your dream
And I'm searching
the piece of poetry
that supposed to be
the higher sense of the heaven

In my head,
I'm watching the clouds
rolling over in my sight
In my vein,
I'm pushing the torment
feeding the hungry blood

I can't be the spurious mind
I would be a ramble silence
Moon in the outside
Reading your dream
And I’m looking for free highway
that supposed to be
Freedom footing above the heaven"

Written on: 24 May 2017
Tribute to Chris Cornell 
#fiction  #poetry  #spirituality  #lyrics  #ChrisCornell 
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We lost a lot with the passing of Chris Cornell. To many, he was a mentor, a brilliant writer; an inimitable voice. Until June 30th, this challenge is for the friends and fans to write their stories, poems, tributes: anything about him. We will be putting together a book for the Cornell family, of the posts entered, as well as making copies available for purchase, donating all proceeds to suicide prevention. In partnership with Seattle Refined, the most shared post will be read on air, and posted on seattlerefined.com.
Written by JamesMByers in portal Seattle Refined

Black Sun, Black Days

Born of grunge and metal's mirth

Beneath the pouring rain,

Swarmed Seattle; legend's birth

Incorporating pain.

Troubled childhood, feeling down

Within depression's clutch,

Chris Cornell, against a frown,

Ensnared a hopeful touch.

Sparking much debate in school,

Religion took a fall,

Hence removed from off the spool

As Chris had questioned all.

Drugs escaped into his mind

And solo seemed the path

He would walk as albeit blind,

Until musician's math

Forged a bond as guitars strummed

And drums in pounding beat

Measured in the way he hummed-

A symphony complete.

Gardens made of sound arrived;

The friendship formed a band.

Intercession, songs survived

And guided Chris's hand.

Rusty cages seemed outshined

And more so, I suppose.

Moving melodies defined

A Jesus Christ like pose.

Spoonman sung in deepest rays-

A black hole sun's delight.

Fell on darkened, blackest days

The way he lived in night.

Pretty noose foreshadowed doom;

A burden in the palm.

Blowing up the outside gloom,

The rhinosaur brought balm.

Black rain fell in drops of thought

As phantoms telephoned.

Been away too long and bought

The crooked steps he zoned.

Slave to audio conformed

As in between the the time

Garden of the sound reformed

To sink in the sublime,

Chris Cornell enjoyed a stay

As new friends jammed in tune.

Like a stone, they learned to play

The highway and the rune.

Be yourself- a mantra's gift

And time had come to pass.

Doesn't call reminder's lift

As out of exile's class

Fire, original in flame,

In revelation's scheme

Burned the solo album's game

As if some sort of dream.

No such thing, a scream long gone,

And many singles sung-

Finally the heart of stone

Forgotten settled, hung.

Temple of the dog avowed

Unsettled pasts revived.

Chris did all he was allowed

And for a while he thrived.

Never known, the reason why

Detroit became the place

Seeds were sewn as his reply;

A sadness filled his face.

Songs performed were not the same,

Conditioned on the ride.

Chris Cornell, a hallowed name,

Committed suicide.

This is for his wife and kids;

The Fans he left behind.

Sadness beckons as it skids

Across the bump and grind-

Friends will not forget the man

Enlisting lyrics writ.

Concerts from the deepest span

Ensure he will not quit.

Lost forever to the earth,

Inside us Chris will give.

Born of grunge and metal's mirth,

His death calls us to live.

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We lost a lot with the passing of Chris Cornell. To many, he was a mentor, a brilliant writer; an inimitable voice. Until June 30th, this challenge is for the friends and fans to write their stories, poems, tributes: anything about him. We will be putting together a book for the Cornell family, of the posts entered, as well as making copies available for purchase, donating all proceeds to suicide prevention. In partnership with Seattle Refined, the most shared post will be read on air, and posted on seattlerefined.com.
Written by JamesMByers in portal Seattle Refined
Black Sun, Black Days
Born of grunge and metal's mirth
Beneath the pouring rain,
Swarmed Seattle; legend's birth
Incorporating pain.
Troubled childhood, feeling down
Within depression's clutch,
Chris Cornell, against a frown,
Ensnared a hopeful touch.
Sparking much debate in school,
Religion took a fall,
Hence removed from off the spool
As Chris had questioned all.
Drugs escaped into his mind
And solo seemed the path
He would walk as albeit blind,
Until musician's math
Forged a bond as guitars strummed
And drums in pounding beat
Measured in the way he hummed-
A symphony complete.
Gardens made of sound arrived;
The friendship formed a band.
Intercession, songs survived
And guided Chris's hand.
Rusty cages seemed outshined
And more so, I suppose.
Moving melodies defined
A Jesus Christ like pose.
Spoonman sung in deepest rays-
A black hole sun's delight.
Fell on darkened, blackest days
The way he lived in night.
Pretty noose foreshadowed doom;
A burden in the palm.
Blowing up the outside gloom,
The rhinosaur brought balm.
Black rain fell in drops of thought
As phantoms telephoned.
Been away too long and bought
The crooked steps he zoned.
Slave to audio conformed
As in between the the time
Garden of the sound reformed
To sink in the sublime,
Chris Cornell enjoyed a stay
As new friends jammed in tune.
Like a stone, they learned to play
The highway and the rune.
Be yourself- a mantra's gift
And time had come to pass.
Doesn't call reminder's lift
As out of exile's class
Fire, original in flame,
In revelation's scheme
Burned the solo album's game
As if some sort of dream.
No such thing, a scream long gone,
And many singles sung-
Finally the heart of stone
Forgotten settled, hung.
Temple of the dog avowed
Unsettled pasts revived.
Chris did all he was allowed
And for a while he thrived.
Never known, the reason why
Detroit became the place
Seeds were sewn as his reply;
A sadness filled his face.
Songs performed were not the same,
Conditioned on the ride.
Chris Cornell, a hallowed name,
Committed suicide.
This is for his wife and kids;
The Fans he left behind.
Sadness beckons as it skids
Across the bump and grind-
Friends will not forget the man
Enlisting lyrics writ.
Concerts from the deepest span
Ensure he will not quit.
Lost forever to the earth,
Inside us Chris will give.
Born of grunge and metal's mirth,
His death calls us to live.
#poetry  #prosechallenge  #news  #culture  #lyrics  #Itslit  #getlit  #ChrisCornell  #SeattleRefined 
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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JamesMByers

Amends ...

Her eyes, like embers blazing hot,

Emancipated me.

The prison of my married rot;

She came to set me free.

An ocean barred and held us bound,

Though miles, they mattered not.

The bonnie lass my heart had found

Secured a sacred spot.

We met in poesy swapping words;

Her husband was a star.

And I was in my cage as birds

Unfit to fly afar.

For many years, we both had stayed

In halls and walls; routine.

Amended edges, tattered; frayed-

A chopping guillotine.

However, life has hidden keys

And she was such a gift.

An open door, a welcome breeze

To give each wing a lift.

Permission bled to passion's plan

And over time, we fell.

The world of woman and of man

Has never heard the tale.

No Romeo and Juliet;

No cross of lover's debt-

My loving never sowed regret;

No worry or no fret.

The secret words of poetry

Exchanged became the way

We shared each other knowingly;

We kissed, caressed by day.

And though our lips would never touch,

The way we pleased the soul

Ensured my love for her as such-

We made each other whole.

Rekindled feelings blooming grand

Exonerated hope.

In written form, she took my hand

And helped me learn to cope.

Confessions never claimed the right-

Ability in rhyme.

Decisions plagued my heart at night-

I longed for us a time

To share the space of wedded bliss.

However, on the screen

Composed of all we had in this-

The way our love was seen.

So many letters we exchanged;

So many wonders sought.

And though at odds we were estranged,

Together love was wrought.

Compelled by something old as earth,

We clamored to the sun.

Repelled by gravity in worth,

To never be undone-

A husband and a wife to those

Who never read the truth.

But she and I, we gladly chose

The sanguine labeled proof-

And as forever she will be

My love that never ends-

What you call infidelity

I choose to call amends ...

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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by JamesMByers
Amends ...
Her eyes, like embers blazing hot,
Emancipated me.
The prison of my married rot;
She came to set me free.
An ocean barred and held us bound,
Though miles, they mattered not.
The bonnie lass my heart had found
Secured a sacred spot.
We met in poesy swapping words;
Her husband was a star.
And I was in my cage as birds
Unfit to fly afar.
For many years, we both had stayed
In halls and walls; routine.
Amended edges, tattered; frayed-
A chopping guillotine.
However, life has hidden keys
And she was such a gift.
An open door, a welcome breeze
To give each wing a lift.
Permission bled to passion's plan
And over time, we fell.
The world of woman and of man
Has never heard the tale.
No Romeo and Juliet;
No cross of lover's debt-
My loving never sowed regret;
No worry or no fret.
The secret words of poetry
Exchanged became the way
We shared each other knowingly;
We kissed, caressed by day.
And though our lips would never touch,
The way we pleased the soul
Ensured my love for her as such-
We made each other whole.
Rekindled feelings blooming grand
Exonerated hope.
In written form, she took my hand
And helped me learn to cope.
Confessions never claimed the right-
Ability in rhyme.
Decisions plagued my heart at night-
I longed for us a time
To share the space of wedded bliss.
However, on the screen
Composed of all we had in this-
The way our love was seen.
So many letters we exchanged;
So many wonders sought.
And though at odds we were estranged,
Together love was wrought.
Compelled by something old as earth,
We clamored to the sun.
Repelled by gravity in worth,
To never be undone-
A husband and a wife to those
Who never read the truth.
But she and I, we gladly chose
The sanguine labeled proof-
And as forever she will be
My love that never ends-
What you call infidelity
I choose to call amends ...




#romance  #poetry  #prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Stream of Consciousness

Furtive Voyeurism

Her intestinal mind was a tapeworm starving for clarity through undigested knowledge. Her demons barked in parables to the transverse shadows draping her room with metaphors. And she poured another shot: stepping to the edge of sanity with her toes curled and eyes closed, oblivion responded with the voice of God. 

Her canvas was always splattered in gold, but it was the red smears and yellow flowers that revealed freedom housed in the negative space. Unlocking life's vault with a skeleton key, she sighed with acceptance and she drew the curtains closed. 

And with the darkness caressing the room like a serpent's tongue, her mind finally grew quiet.

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Written by ALifeWitArt in portal Stream of Consciousness
Furtive Voyeurism
Her intestinal mind was a tapeworm starving for clarity through undigested knowledge. Her demons barked in parables to the transverse shadows draping her room with metaphors. And she poured another shot: stepping to the edge of sanity with her toes curled and eyes closed, oblivion responded with the voice of God. 

Her canvas was always splattered in gold, but it was the red smears and yellow flowers that revealed freedom housed in the negative space. Unlocking life's vault with a skeleton key, she sighed with acceptance and she drew the curtains closed. 

And with the darkness caressing the room like a serpent's tongue, her mind finally grew quiet.
#poetry  #philosophy  #spirituality 
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Written by Harlequin in portal Poetry & Free Verse

The Artist's Pennant

                                                                    I 

                                                               do seek.

                                                           What eddies 

                                                      whirl until they pale

                                                 beneath, pushing purpose

                                         to flowing beyond me continuously

                                       losing myself to that maelstrom whose

                                          swirling, turning, circling breathes

                                                endless as it pulls me deeper

                                                   a storm now evermore

                                                         brewing within

                                                            this mortal

                                                                core.

                                                                  I

                                                            do fight.

                                                    A recurring battle

                                            reincarnated at each dawn

                                       carnal as the blood which spawns

                                     words without meaning to life again

                                  to death as the cycle begins another turn

                                     hands ticking seconds to the infinite

                                        surrender, I might, one day if my

                                            breath should indeed cease

                                                 but my feet march to

                                                    an endless beat to

                                                      the final hours 

                                                          I do not

                                                            await.

                                                               I

                                                          am one.

                                                 Amongst the fallen

                                              on the precipice, I am

                                       that banner which stands listless

                                   tattered, marking corpses overrun by

                                   armies whose hands murdered all my

                                          ardent desires and fulcrums I

                                            lost, to be found yet again

                                               as the dust settles in

                                                    to that silent

                                                      ever dying

                                                           din.

                                                            I

                                                      have lost.

                                                 Yet still I kneel

                                            to that ruling hunger

                                    synonymous to my nature both

                                  destructive and creative at its apex

                                which commands my hands yet again

                                    returning, I must then relinquish

                                         fear once more as the sun

                                            spawns dawn, so now

                                               yet another battle

                                                 calls me again,

                                                     and again

                                                       I shall

                                                       begin.

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Written by Harlequin in portal Poetry & Free Verse
The Artist's Pennant
                                                                    I 
                                                               do seek.
                                                           What eddies 
                                                      whirl until they pale
                                                 beneath, pushing purpose
                                         to flowing beyond me continuously
                                       losing myself to that maelstrom whose
                                          swirling, turning, circling breathes
                                                endless as it pulls me deeper
                                                   a storm now evermore
                                                         brewing within
                                                            this mortal
                                                                core.

                                                                  I
                                                            do fight.
                                                    A recurring battle
                                            reincarnated at each dawn
                                       carnal as the blood which spawns
                                     words without meaning to life again
                                  to death as the cycle begins another turn
                                     hands ticking seconds to the infinite
                                        surrender, I might, one day if my
                                            breath should indeed cease
                                                 but my feet march to
                                                    an endless beat to
                                                      the final hours 
                                                          I do not
                                                            await.


                                                               I
                                                          am one.
                                                 Amongst the fallen
                                              on the precipice, I am
                                       that banner which stands listless
                                   tattered, marking corpses overrun by
                                   armies whose hands murdered all my
                                          ardent desires and fulcrums I
                                            lost, to be found yet again
                                               as the dust settles in
                                                    to that silent
                                                      ever dying
                                                           din.

                                                            I
                                                      have lost.
                                                 Yet still I kneel
                                            to that ruling hunger
                                    synonymous to my nature both
                                  destructive and creative at its apex
                                which commands my hands yet again
                                    returning, I must then relinquish
                                         fear once more as the sun
                                            spawns dawn, so now
                                               yet another battle
                                                 calls me again,
                                                     and again
                                                       I shall
                                                       begin.
#poetry  #philosophy 
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Written by Betzahel

When it's Our Turn to Knock....

You

Holy Immigrant,

How many times

Have you suffered this thankless journey -

Should we, by now,

even from here,

at the furthest shore of Paradise, should we not see

Your Path worn all too clear?

Do the birds not mourn,

that strange scar

now struck

across the very scalp of Eden?

Deeper Greens there

Given way to pale earth,

humbled by Your Precious Footfall.

And there -

where the Garden now

parts forever,

having pushed aside your Perfect Blooms

from 10,000 promising departures.

Or here,

where You've stepped wide

The Potters

Dirt

lest a single tear

renew that shameful clay -

How many times have You

set

that sweet scent at your back,

As the Sacred Wilds

Sway the angel songs

praying your swift return,

begging you,

please,

please

let a lost cause be lost.

Yet time and again

you set off

through the badlands where

salt wives still stare

backwards

towards

some ghostly city -

And on

past the bloody stone

that fell

from Cain's trembling hand -

The jagged hilltop

where you advised an Egyptian

Renegade

on proper social etiquette.

Finally,

to our stoney edge -

Where. Again.

You call,

perhaps this time as an orphan child

with blood in her hair,

fine dust still clinging

that once made bricks

and home

Or maybe an old man,

bent

and naked,

shivering in the cold and

glow of our lamps.

But you have never,

not once

found us waiting,

always walled in by our bricks

and our lies -

fat and pleased,

well contented with your absence.

How high,

these gates of ours we've built-

anchored deep

in our piety -

the shameful locks of iron and pride,

impenetrable, even by you.

Now, as always,

this wall -

standing too high

to overcome its shadow.

And look,

Look how our fear spreads

Just as far

as our hatred will grow -

Now cast

like a sea of nothing

from one

blank horizon

to the next.

Yet you somehow

always journey forward

Always towards

Hope.

With Promise at your back

like a southern wind

Maybe this time

YOU say,

They'll remember.

But we never do - Just the gifts

you've placed

before our haughty watchman.

And Knowing Yourself

unwelcome,

what more could You do?

a few small tokens -

signs

of your Love

The flesh of

Your Flesh -

blood

of Your Blood -

too humble, I suppose,

to remind us,

once

you even left us

Our very creation

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Written by Betzahel
When it's Our Turn to Knock....
You
Holy Immigrant,
How many times
Have you suffered this thankless journey -
Should we, by now,
even from here,
at the furthest shore of Paradise, should we not see
Your Path worn all too clear?
Do the birds not mourn,
that strange scar
now struck
across the very scalp of Eden?

Deeper Greens there
Given way to pale earth,
humbled by Your Precious Footfall.

And there -
where the Garden now
parts forever,
having pushed aside your Perfect Blooms
from 10,000 promising departures.

Or here,
where You've stepped wide
The Potters
Dirt
lest a single tear
renew that shameful clay -

How many times have You
set
that sweet scent at your back,
As the Sacred Wilds
Sway the angel songs
praying your swift return,
begging you,
please,
please
let a lost cause be lost.

Yet time and again
you set off
through the badlands where
salt wives still stare
backwards
towards
some ghostly city -
And on
past the bloody stone
that fell
from Cain's trembling hand -
The jagged hilltop
where you advised an Egyptian
Renegade
on proper social etiquette.

Finally,
to our stoney edge -
Where. Again.
You call,
perhaps this time as an orphan child
with blood in her hair,
fine dust still clinging
that once made bricks
and home

Or maybe an old man,
bent
and naked,
shivering in the cold and
glow of our lamps.

But you have never,
not once
found us waiting,
always walled in by our bricks
and our lies -
fat and pleased,
well contented with your absence.

How high,
these gates of ours we've built-
anchored deep
in our piety -
the shameful locks of iron and pride,
impenetrable, even by you.

Now, as always,
this wall -
standing too high
to overcome its shadow.
And look,
Look how our fear spreads
Just as far
as our hatred will grow -
Now cast
like a sea of nothing
from one
blank horizon
to the next.

Yet you somehow
always journey forward
Always towards
Hope.
With Promise at your back
like a southern wind

Maybe this time
YOU say,
They'll remember.

But we never do - Just the gifts
you've placed
before our haughty watchman.
And Knowing Yourself
unwelcome,
what more could You do?
a few small tokens -
signs
of your Love
The flesh of
Your Flesh -
blood
of Your Blood -

too humble, I suppose,
to remind us,
once
you even left us

Our very creation
#poetry  #philosophy  #politics  #spirituality 
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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesMByers

Propagation

The Origin

1- 1 When it began, the Goddess sang-

Existence made its way.

Explosions carved the universe

As She unfolded clay.

2 The earth held nothing in its form

Aside from empty dark.

The Goddess crafted sod and sea;

Her spirit made its mark.

3 The angels She created next-

Of wing and feral might.

Emblazoned with a fiery core,

An army willed to fight.

4 And then She said, “Come forth, the light!”

She saw that this was good.

Amazed, the ushered breath and beast;

She crafted earth and wood.

5 A separation of the void,

She called them night and day.

A sphere of fire to keep the morn,

A moon where dark would stay.

6 Upon the realm of Midgard’s turf

In waters rushing flow,

The Goddess spoke and ushered fish

Beneath the undertow.

7 Upon the lands, the angels flew

Ensuring life evolved.

The smallest to the greatest spread,

A manifest resolved.

8 The Goddess called her angels back,

Decreeing, “Be it so-

That all I make shall reproduce-

Increasing ebb and flow.”

9 And Midgard teemed with floral growth;

The fauna filled the land.

The angels blessed the beast and bird

As was their first command.

10 Although the world begotten brimmed

In life of every thing,

The Goddess felt an emptiness

Compelling her to sing.

11 A garden formed of lush delight

Encapsulating all

Invoked as She unleashed a song

And wrought mankind in thrall.

12 The major chords she ushered forth

Ensnared the dirt and mud,

And in her image came the first-

A human, flesh and blood.

Lilith and Adam

2- 1 And so it was, creation bloomed-

The Goddess placed her spark

Embedding every living thing

Between the light and dark.

2 Around the garden walked abroad

A woman of the earth.

The Goddess smiled at what she saw,

Creating in her mirth.

3 She called her Lilith, wrath of storm,

The Goddess lullaby.

She raised her up above the beasts;

The angels in the sky.

4 And though all pleasures she partook,

A sorrow swallowed whole.

The Goddess made the woman sleep

To form another soul.

5 The moment She began her song,

A rib from Lilith spurned

Another- man- as Adam came-

And passion in him burned.

6 Now, Lilith did not like the man-

He tried to rule her form.

But she refused his thirsty lust;

No, she would not conform.

The Descent

3- 1 Rejected, he walked through the wood

Until he heard a voice-

“Dear Adam, you have much to learn-

My son, you have a choice.”

2 The dragon, once called Lucifer,

Had fallen from a star.

Enticing Adam with his lies,

He whispered, “There you are!”

3 As Adam stood before the beast,

A newfound feeling swelled.

“What can I do to make her mine?

To make her heart compelled?”

4 “Oh, Adam, you have every right-

Absolve your flesh in her.”

The great deceiver coaxed his prey

And Adam would concur.

5 Unknown to either of the two,

The Goddess crafted more-

She called them dwarves and others elves,

The myths of ancient lore.

6 As it would be, a dwarf about

The garden heard the plan.

He raced to Lilith, full of fear,

And thus betrayed the man.

7 The garden, Eden it was called,

Invited Adam home.

And Lilith waited, open arms;

Beside her stood a gnome.

8 “So, Mother has created more-

And here you wait for me.

I have a tale to share with you-

An act to set you free."

9 Upon these words, the dwarf appeared

And angels flew below

Arresting Adam ere he stood,

For what, he did not know.

10 “What meaning do you have for this!

I am of Goddess craft!”

Ignoring him, they tied him up

And placed him on a raft.

11 As Lilith watched him float away,

She noticed in his grasp

A piece of fruit from off a tree

Secured within a clasp.

12 The crafty dragon then appeared

And freed the man to dine.

“The Tree of Good and Evil- yes!

Behold- it is now mine!”

13 Of all they were allowed to eat,

The fruit from off one tree

The Goddess had forbidden them-

It birthed eternity.

14 As Adam fled atop the beast,

An an angel came to guard

The entrance into Eden’s realm-

A blazing, shining shard.

15 The dwarves and elves rejoiced to see

The man depart their land.

As Lilith utilized her skills,

The Goddess found it grand.

16 A blessing over Eden’s girth,

Reviving all inside

And laugher flourished plant to plane-

A gift she would provide.

Fallen Angels and Adam’s Daughters

4- 1 Outside of Eden, Adam’s lust

Increased as he would find

A race of creatures, humanoid,

In which his loins would grind.

2 The offspring grew in wonderment

And angels fell from grace

The same as Lucifer had been,

Succumbing in that place.

3 As Adam had him many wives,

So, too, the angels took

To bed his daughters, full of sin,

Depicted in this book.

4 Abominations they produced,

The giants and monsters spawned

Devoured the outer world around

As evil newly dawned.

5 And still they could not enter in

The gates of Eden’s port.

The Goddess kept her promises

And Lilith ruled her court.

6 The angels, each a different brand-

A lion, and eagle, and

A bull defended Lilith’s woods-

And kept filth from her land.

7 For Adam daily tried his best

To take back all denied.

And yet the Goddess blocked attempts

No matter how he tried.

8 The dwarves and elves and other kind

Among the woodland’s hold

Arose to worship Lilith’s Queen

And forged the Goddess gold.

9 Too closely to the outside world

A few dwarves ventured near.

The monsters sensed the wealth and vowed

To offer hateful fear.

10 Again, day out and in, they tried

But Eden’s troupe prevailed.

It seemed a futile quest, indeed

For every time, they failed.

11 The dragon formed a vengeful plan,

And Adam fell in line.

No matter how they changed the course,

The Goddess proved divine.

12 And I would know, for She is me-

We are one in the same.

The garden holds a hidden myth,

And Lilith is her name …

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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesMByers
Propagation
The Origin

1- 1 When it began, the Goddess sang-
Existence made its way.
Explosions carved the universe
As She unfolded clay.
2 The earth held nothing in its form
Aside from empty dark.
The Goddess crafted sod and sea;
Her spirit made its mark.
3 The angels She created next-
Of wing and feral might.
Emblazoned with a fiery core,
An army willed to fight.
4 And then She said, “Come forth, the light!”
She saw that this was good.
Amazed, the ushered breath and beast;
She crafted earth and wood.
5 A separation of the void,
She called them night and day.
A sphere of fire to keep the morn,
A moon where dark would stay.
6 Upon the realm of Midgard’s turf
In waters rushing flow,
The Goddess spoke and ushered fish
Beneath the undertow.
7 Upon the lands, the angels flew
Ensuring life evolved.
The smallest to the greatest spread,
A manifest resolved.
8 The Goddess called her angels back,
Decreeing, “Be it so-
That all I make shall reproduce-
Increasing ebb and flow.”
9 And Midgard teemed with floral growth;
The fauna filled the land.
The angels blessed the beast and bird
As was their first command.
10 Although the world begotten brimmed
In life of every thing,
The Goddess felt an emptiness
Compelling her to sing.
11 A garden formed of lush delight
Encapsulating all
Invoked as She unleashed a song
And wrought mankind in thrall.
12 The major chords she ushered forth
Ensnared the dirt and mud,
And in her image came the first-
A human, flesh and blood.

Lilith and Adam

2- 1 And so it was, creation bloomed-
The Goddess placed her spark
Embedding every living thing
Between the light and dark.
2 Around the garden walked abroad
A woman of the earth.
The Goddess smiled at what she saw,
Creating in her mirth.
3 She called her Lilith, wrath of storm,
The Goddess lullaby.
She raised her up above the beasts;
The angels in the sky.
4 And though all pleasures she partook,
A sorrow swallowed whole.
The Goddess made the woman sleep
To form another soul.
5 The moment She began her song,
A rib from Lilith spurned
Another- man- as Adam came-
And passion in him burned.
6 Now, Lilith did not like the man-
He tried to rule her form.
But she refused his thirsty lust;
No, she would not conform.

The Descent

3- 1 Rejected, he walked through the wood
Until he heard a voice-
“Dear Adam, you have much to learn-
My son, you have a choice.”
2 The dragon, once called Lucifer,
Had fallen from a star.
Enticing Adam with his lies,
He whispered, “There you are!”
3 As Adam stood before the beast,
A newfound feeling swelled.
“What can I do to make her mine?
To make her heart compelled?”
4 “Oh, Adam, you have every right-
Absolve your flesh in her.”
The great deceiver coaxed his prey
And Adam would concur.
5 Unknown to either of the two,
The Goddess crafted more-
She called them dwarves and others elves,
The myths of ancient lore.
6 As it would be, a dwarf about
The garden heard the plan.
He raced to Lilith, full of fear,
And thus betrayed the man.
7 The garden, Eden it was called,
Invited Adam home.
And Lilith waited, open arms;
Beside her stood a gnome.
8 “So, Mother has created more-
And here you wait for me.
I have a tale to share with you-
An act to set you free."
9 Upon these words, the dwarf appeared
And angels flew below
Arresting Adam ere he stood,
For what, he did not know.
10 “What meaning do you have for this!
I am of Goddess craft!”
Ignoring him, they tied him up
And placed him on a raft.
11 As Lilith watched him float away,
She noticed in his grasp
A piece of fruit from off a tree
Secured within a clasp.
12 The crafty dragon then appeared
And freed the man to dine.
“The Tree of Good and Evil- yes!
Behold- it is now mine!”
13 Of all they were allowed to eat,
The fruit from off one tree
The Goddess had forbidden them-
It birthed eternity.
14 As Adam fled atop the beast,
An an angel came to guard
The entrance into Eden’s realm-
A blazing, shining shard.
15 The dwarves and elves rejoiced to see
The man depart their land.
As Lilith utilized her skills,
The Goddess found it grand.
16 A blessing over Eden’s girth,
Reviving all inside
And laugher flourished plant to plane-
A gift she would provide.

Fallen Angels and Adam’s Daughters

4- 1 Outside of Eden, Adam’s lust
Increased as he would find
A race of creatures, humanoid,
In which his loins would grind.
2 The offspring grew in wonderment
And angels fell from grace
The same as Lucifer had been,
Succumbing in that place.
3 As Adam had him many wives,
So, too, the angels took
To bed his daughters, full of sin,
Depicted in this book.
4 Abominations they produced,
The giants and monsters spawned
Devoured the outer world around
As evil newly dawned.
5 And still they could not enter in
The gates of Eden’s port.
The Goddess kept her promises
And Lilith ruled her court.
6 The angels, each a different brand-
A lion, and eagle, and
A bull defended Lilith’s woods-
And kept filth from her land.
7 For Adam daily tried his best
To take back all denied.
And yet the Goddess blocked attempts
No matter how he tried.
8 The dwarves and elves and other kind
Among the woodland’s hold
Arose to worship Lilith’s Queen
And forged the Goddess gold.
9 Too closely to the outside world
A few dwarves ventured near.
The monsters sensed the wealth and vowed
To offer hateful fear.
10 Again, day out and in, they tried
But Eden’s troupe prevailed.
It seemed a futile quest, indeed
For every time, they failed.
11 The dragon formed a vengeful plan,
And Adam fell in line.
No matter how they changed the course,
The Goddess proved divine.
12 And I would know, for She is me-
We are one in the same.
The garden holds a hidden myth,
And Lilith is her name …
#fantasy  #poetry  #prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
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Written by RioRamirez

Cure Writer's Block

From William Garner's article on LinkedIn:

Writer's Block Is a Real Phenomenon That Resides in Your Subconscious

In all my years of writing, I’ve suffered from several different maladies and conditions but never the one we all fear and loathe: Writer’s Block. This doesn’t mean I don’t understand it, though, because I do. I’ve studied it in other people over the decades and have formulated my hypothesis about it and what causes it.

Writer's Block resides deep within your subconscious and can be accessed primarily through dreams and dreaming, and sometimes consciously by communicating with that nagging little voice at the back of your mind.

I’ve done experiments on myself to artificially induce Writer’s Block, and have been overwhelmingly successful. Those results were a dubious success, of course, because no one wishes to suffer from this dreadful disease of the subconscious, let alone for any extended period of time. But at least I saw it first hand.

When I stated above that I’ve never suffered from Writer’s Block, I meant it while I was actively writing, not experimentally inducing it for the purpose of intensive study.

What Are Some of the Probable Causes of Writer’s Block?

There is no one cause, because Writer’s Block may surface slowly or all at once at any point in the writing process. If you’re at the very beginning, with not even a storyline in mind, and you can’t write even write that first word, then the cause may be lack of passion, direction or drive.

Of course, one of the worst causes is wanting desperately to write but not having anything to write about. The next is having too many distractions that cloud the whole dreaming, designing, building and writing process.

If you’re not passionate about what you do, then the art of writing becomes a chore, a drudgery. And you’ll likely not write much, or even finish your writing project. You must love what you wish to write about, be absolutely passionate about it, because this is a story that you will share with other people. Writing becomes a chore when you’re simply writing for money or a reason other than for passion.

I’ve read published books by authors who seemed to be doing it for the money, and it’s reflected in their work. I’ve also talked with authors who’ve told me their prime motivation was to earn lots of money. Some did it well, but their work wasn’t as good as others’ whose artwork was based on a deep-seated passion that underlies and fuels it.

Passion is a deep, often hidden desire to express yourself and what you have to say, what you believe in so fiercely that it must come out in some artistic form. And when it surfaces, it’s in the form of a book, your first book.

If you’re in the middle of actually writing your first book, and Writer’s Block creeps up on you and your work grinds to a halt, then the cause is more likely your not being in sufficient contact with your subconscious, such that when your subconscious needs to connect with your typist and it cannot, the subconscious gets pouty or just plain angry and closes down for a period of time.

This is the time you need to take a step back from your work and ask yourself: How am I not in good contact with my subconscious now? What happened such that I lost contact? And how do I get back on track?

You could be stressed out at work and this is impinging on your writing at night or on weekends. Your family may be undergoing a crisis, something that takes you away from your work and your subconscious’s working for you on your book project. You must notice what the cause is and do whatever it takes to assuage the negative effects so you can get back to the fun business of writing your first book.

If You Suffer From Writer's Block, Ask Yourself This Important Question

“Am I still passionate about writing this book?”

Could be that you initially started your first book because you were inspired by a lover who came into your life, turned it upside down, and you fell in love so deeply that you got lost in all that passion. You began writing about it and then, out of the blue, your lover suddenly disappeared . . . along with the fiery passion that had driven you to embark on the journey to begin with.

This happens sometimes. It’s not the end of the world, although the pain is often unbearable, not just the loss of a loved one but also the loss of your passion for writing a book you thought you would finish and get out there for all to read and appreciate.

It may be a good idea, too, to write down the question, say it aloud before you go to sleep, so your subconscious will hear you and come up with some answers. If your subconscious isn’t paying you much mind, for whatever reason, you may consider taking a long break from your project, say, a month, then returning to it with a fresh look.

If you have somehow lost interest in your writing project, or if your passion has waned even a little, then you might want to consider trying another approach to writing this particular book, or choose another idea altogether. This doesn’t mean you should quit your current project. It may need to ferment a bit more, so put it aside and try something else, another story idea.

What Is Your Subconscious and How Do You Communicate With It to Overcome Writer's Block?

One of the greatest creations in the Universe, besides majestic planets like Earth and powerful energy sources like our sun, is the human subconscious. It is in direct communication with the Universe, which suggests it also communicates collectively with the subconscious of others.

You do not have to believe in this line of thought to write anything, even though I have injected small hints that you should consider it. Whatever you choose to believe, the fact is that you must give your writing sufficient time to develop. Time comes in days, weeks and months.

I’ve studied the human subconscious, mostly in myself, since I was a child, wondering what inner engine drove me to do the things I did. I didn’t have to think about doing certain things, I just did them. Sometimes they were rational and positive; other times, not so.

One item I discovered over the years was that there was a clear line between what I did consciously and how my mind functioned subconsciously. When I went to sleep each night, I knew there was a whole different creature that came alive and took me on endless journeys through space and time, introducing me to new thoughts, ideas, beliefs and ways of doing things in my life.

Your Subconscious, or Inner CHILD, is a Real Person Inside You

Nearly 15 years ago, I woke up one morning and scrambled out of bed to write something down. Whatever was in my head at that moment had to come out and it wasn’t going to wait for my bus driver, my typist, to take dictation. It was coming in a flood and that was that.

When I got to my notepad, my hand started scribbling things down. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was writing, I just took it on faith that I had to do this.

After I was done autowriting, I looked at what had emerged: a single word, along with details about each letter of the word. It was an acronym, CHILD:

C: the little Child in you, the curious wide-eyed being that looks at the world without filters and preconceived notions about anything. A little sponge that senses things with wonder and awe.

H: the true Heart in you, the purely subjective part, filled with every conceivable emotion known.

I: your Intuition or information-gathering system, the sensory apparatus that receives every possible stimulus in the Universe, much like a radio receives radio signals to produce spoken word and songs.

L: the cold, stainless-steel Logic that sees the world purely objectively, like a robotic computer that takes in and analyzes things in a totally impartial and neutral way, without emotion of any kind.

D: the little Demon in you, that mischievous entity that plays pranks and does impish things. Can sometimes be very destructive and hurtful.

These entities all comprise the human subconscious, which is the true engine that drives each and every one of us in our daily lives. They all work together and, depending on how one’s DNA is wired, sometimes for good and sometimes for evil.

I will not get into the moral implications of good and evil, only stating that they exist in all of us to some extent and, in others, they comprise their whole being. Sociopaths and psychopaths are an example.

Destiny or Free Will? Both!

We can communicate with what I term our Inner CHILD, or we can ignore it and just float through life, going wherever it takes us.

I contend that we do have a destiny. Each of us, when we are conceived (not born), have a certain imprint from those celestial bodies that mediate and modulate our behaviors; in fact, everything we do in life. This is imprinted onto our DNA when it first forms chemically in that single cell that will later become an individual being.

When we are first imprinted by the Universe, using celestiophysics, we are then given a map of destiny that propels us through life. Some of us follow this map without much thought. Others, like me, question it each day and consciously make a choice whether to follow that map or go “off-map” and do something that we were not initially programmed to do. Again, most people do not pay much if any attention to their map of destiny. They simply live life and go with the flow.

There is nothing wrong with this approach, but wouldn’t it be cool if you actually knew how it worked so you could use this invaluable tool to your advantage?

These thoughts bring me to my personal philosophy, Subism. It holds that the human subconscious is direct communication with the Universe, and that celestial bodies (planets, stars, whatever) directly and indirectly influence all life on earth. The philosophers of old weren’t familiar with celestiophysics, so they formulated their own ideas about how humans operate and function, and what makes us do the things we do. I suggest that we do all the things we do because of the strong, inexorable influences of celestiophysics, which we can to some extent manipulate and control.

I have often wondered why we spend so much time trying to read the minds of other people when we should be learning how to read our own and get in touch with our own subconscious.

How Do You Use Your Inner CHILD to Help You Write?

We can start with something we all agree on: we dream a lot. Sometimes you may not recall each or any dream, but your subconscious is actively dreaming, sending little (and giant) messages up to your conscious self to do certain things, avoid other things. Dreams are one method the subconscious uses to communicate with your conscious self.

Interestingly, when your subconscious presents a dream to you, it does so in very rudimentary language. We dream in metaphors and symbols and motifs, not in complete film-like visions. Our Inner CHILD only knows one method of talking to our conscious self, and that is in the language of a child, a small voice that expresses itself using little vignettes that represent small words and actions. Curiously our subconscious also uses phrases and sayings from books or passages we've read or from certain songs we've heard.

I’ve never heard of anyone dreaming in the language of an adult. Never. If someone tells you that they do in fact dream this way, it’s not a deep-sleep dream but a lucid dream, one you actually control because you’re partly conscious.

During a very difficult time in my life some years back, I had a recurring dream: a was sitting in a bus filled with other people. I wasn’t talking or interacting with those people, just sitting alone and minding my own business. Then the bus suddenly filled with water, as if we’d just plunged into the middle of an ocean. No one around me moved an inch or spoke anything to me or to each other. They all just sat there as the bus filled with water. I looked around, saw stone-cold faces on my fellow passengers, and tried frantically to get out.

And then the dream went lucid, where I could actually manipulate the dream in a semi-conscious state. I changed the dream so I got out of that sinking bus.

Since I had already known that my Inner CHILD was responsible for communicating with me, I then figured out a way to interpret what my subconscious was trying to tell me. I didn’t get it at first, so the dream stayed with me each night for a week or so, until I woke up and listened to my subconscious. To interpret my dream, which was in the language of a child, I used the thoughts, ideas and words of a child, say, of about four years old.

When I used this method, interpreting the dream in a child’s voice, the dream became clear: “I can’t get out and no one will help me.” Simple as that.

The dream told me that I was in a world of hurt and no one was coming to my aid, even when I actively asked for help. In the real world, I was on my own. I have a term for that: yoyo, which means "you’re on your own" when things get really tough for you. I was yoyo for a long time, until I realized what was actually happening, then when I figured out my temporary predicament, I was able to change how I thought, how I acted, and consequently the actions I took to climb out of that dark hole, from inside that sinking bus.

You may be quick to dismiss this as overly simplistic. Please do not. Instead, try it for yourself, using previous dreams you've had, and try to corroborate the newly interpreted message with how things worked out for you subsequently.

How Do We Use Our Subconscious To Cure Writer's Block?

Once you follow the prescription below, your Writer's Block will slowly dissipate and disappear altogether.

Learn how to feed your subconscious properly, to nurture it. You would do this with a human child, wouldn’t you? Your Inner CHILD is even more important. It’s the entity within yourself that guides you through every moment of your entire life. How could you not want to nurture such a being?

Your Inner CHILD is energetic and rambunctious, has a voracious appetite for new adventures and actions, so get out in the world and do stuff. Travel to new places, meet new people, eat new foods, explore new vistas. If you cannot afford to go to Europe or Africa, then explore your own town or city, or maybe drive to the next state and see what’s up there.

If those things are not in your current budget, then find a way to make it happen, now that you know your Inner CHILD needs these things. You need these things, too, dear Writer.

Your subconscious loves to run and jump and play around, so get out and exercise your body, even if it’s a long walk or hike. If you’re going to be a sedentary writer, then your subconscious will eventually rebel. Yes, I do know some overweight writers who do well, but they don’t last too long. Unfortunately, they die young and the being that dies first is their Inner CHILD.

This explains how people sometimes grow cold and distant, and they lose their humanity. In reality, they’re losing the most important part of them—their subconscious.

The CHILD inside you needs stimulation, and the world around you provides just that, so please take full advantage of your atmosphere and make it a daily routine to get out of your office and home and see different and stimulating sites, absorb what you sense all around you, roll in the grass, get dirty and make mud pies . . . something. There’s a new movement out there that is telling all of us to “ground” ourself with the earth. Actually get down on the bare ground and let it touch your skin. The earth is one giant healing mechanism, so find out more about grounding and then implement your new-found knowledge.

What else? Take trips to local stores, shops, museums, businesses that produce something interesting to see designed or in the process of being built. Feed your imagination ‘til its cup runneth over. There are no penalties for overfilling that cup. When your subconscious has had enough, it will tell you.

Go to shows, films, performances and watch the beautiful artwork of people who are just like you: they have a dream, they design and build it, then they do whatever it takes to implement it. Seeing the art of others is inspiring on all levels, especially when they’re actually creating it.

Visit the local hardware store and look at all the tools and items that are used to build things. Check out a restaurant and see how they prepare their meals. I feel it a grand experience to observe artists designing and building things, because it’s not unlike what I do when I create my own stories. In fact, watching other artists may be the most inspiring thing you can witness for yourself when you go out on these little excursions. I love watching glass-blowers! Especially the truly great ones who produce the world’s finest artisan glasswork, those Murano artists in Italy! Wow, they’re amazing to watch. When I’m done witnessing world-class art in motion, I leave with an all-body tingle that’s right up there with the best orgasms ever. Now that is a powerful thought, huh? What an inspiration!

The point is to experience how people outside you and your world of friends and acquaintances conduct their lives and do what they do. When you do, you become a part of their work, too, and you fuel their own desires and passions. You become a part of their artistic process. Let these artists do the same for you.

If your story is set in a beachside resort, go find one and write from there. If you can’t afford to be there, then find a nice area at a beach where you can write and be inspired. Maybe your story takes place in a cool dive bar. Find one and soak up the atmosphere for a few hours. Try not to drink too much or you may not get as much work done. Oh, and please remember: beer all over a keyboard is major notgoodness.

Get Off Your Tush and Connect With Real Human Beings

People make the world go round. And round. When I sometimes forget to get out of my office, which I love, I find that I miss the company of good people. So I jump out of my chair and go find someone to say hello to, ask questions about them, take an interest in another human being, share my own thoughts and experiences with them.

Connecting with another human being is one of the most important acts we should perform on a regular basis. When we don’t, we get lonely and grumpy. Your Inner CHILD does not make a good companion when it’s idle, lonely, cranky and without proper stimulation from the outside world. Use is or you lose it.

Eat something different each day. It doesn’t take much to break up your diet, so try a new cuisine on Friday night, share it with friends, savor every bite. Your subconscious will be as joyful as your conscious self, I promise you.

Considering all the nourishment I suggest above, one item is very clear: it all feeds your subconscious with new stimuli that will aid you in curing Writer's Block and help you write whatever you wish.

How Do You Listen to Your Inner CHILD When It Speaks to You?

First, let’s consider when your subconscious is actually trying to tell you something. An example: you’re sitting in a chair, writing away and you get this nagging voice inside your head that says you need a small pillow at your lower back. Don’t ignore it.

This is your subconscious telling you something: I want to feel comfortable when I tell you this cool story to write.

Those little voices that creep up at all times of the day and night are the core of your subconscious trying to tell you something. You should listen to those voices. Now, if they tell you to go out and run over the first pedestrian you come across, I would think really hard before carrying out that command. If you listen to voices like that, someone will probably have you committed or take you out back and tie you to a tree. How’s that for grounding?

When you hear the calling of your subconscious, please take a listen, pay attention to what it is trying to say, then, provided the command is a reasonable one, please act on it. Once you start listening to your subconscious, it will say, “Aha, my human is finally listening to me! Way to go!” And, from that point forward, if you continue to listen to your subconscious, it will give you more and more great knowledge and information that will not only enhance your life, but also cure Writer's Block and help you write better.

Communicating with your subconscious is not that challenging. Again, if it tells you to do something and you do it, then you’re effectively communicating with your subconscious. Keep doing it. And when you go to bed at night (or during the day, depending on your lifestyle and schedule), ask out loud and write down some questions or topics that you want your subconscious to mull over while your typist and bus driver are passed out for eight hours. When those guys are comatose, your subconscious is hard at play on its own eight-hour vacation.

How To Train Your Subconscious to Work For You

The more you listen to your subconscious, the more it will talk back and provide the information you need. You can train it to give you more and more information by asking questions, writing them down, then sleeping on them. Keep asking the same questions over and over until you get what you want. When asking questions or asking for help, please be kind to your subconscious.

Remember: your subconscious is a child and understands when you are being impatient or downright tedious. You know how people say to treat yourself kindly and gently? They’re really saying you should be kind and gentle to your subconscious.

The reason I suggest you say what you want out loud is because when you speak it and hear your own words, your brain stores and processes that information in different areas, which work in unison to come to your aid. When you physically write it down, that too is stored and processed in another part of your brain. When you read your own words, that is also stored and processed in yet a different part of your brain.

These working areas are also complex computing centers that help to enhance what you desire and wish for, and they help your subconscious make those wishes and dreams come true.

Training your subconscious involves all the above steps, plus actively talking to it, and not just before you go to sleep. You can have meaningful conversations with your subconscious, not only asking questions but also asking for guidance and assistance. The more you communicate with it, the more it responds and with better and more relevant information that will help and guide you accurately.

The only time my subconscious has failed me is when I have ignored it. That fact, in itself, I find fascinating and compelling. My subconscious has never steered me in the wrong or in a negative direction. Ever. When I’ve chosen to go off-map, then sometimes I’ve gotten into trouble. Yes, I’ve learned a lot from those experiential experiences, especially when off-map, but I’ve also paid a steep price for venturing off my Universal path.

Talk to the Individual Components of Your Subconscious

You also can talk to the individual components of your subconscious. It takes time and effort, but you can do it. I’ve often consulted my Logic element to get an objective view on a particular subject. And when I’ve needed to discuss something about my love life, I’ve talked to my Heart.

Having five separate ultra-complex computer modules inside your head is like having a team of experts of the Universe at your beck and call. Thing is, you must treat that team nicely and with great respect or it will ignore you and your queries. Your subconscious will never be vengeful and send you down a wrong path; only your conscious self does that.

The worst you can expect from your subconscious is silence, and that is the most crushing thing that could happen to your beautiful mind, not having the backing of one of the mightiest beings in the Universe.

This may be one of the causes of Writer's Block: your subconscious shutting down.

When Your Subconscious Goes Dark

When your subconscious fails to talk to you or communicate with you, something is very wrong. Remember that your subconscious is a child, so it needs special attention. Like I said, it will never steer you wrong, but it may ignore you. If it does, ask what’s up. Yes, really.

When you go to bed, write down that question, plus a few others: Are you okay? Have I done something really dumb to make you ignore me? What am I doing wrong here? How can I get back on track? Will you please help me?

The times I’ve had my subconscious go silent, they were when I was not treating myself well. I’ve had some challenging jobs in my life—scientist, Army Ranger, corporate security specialist—and each one has brought on a host of problems and challenges that drove me bananas at times. Sometimes after very difficult days, I would drink one too many beers, which is a great way to shut down one’s subconscious.

Point is, I abused myself and I paid for it, not only externally but also internally. Be kind and gentle to yourself, and your subconscious will thank you for it in ways you cannot even imagine now.

Your Subconscious Will Cure Writer's Block and Write Everything For You

All you need to do is nurture it and treat it like it’s the most precious thing in the Universe. It will help you cure Writer's Block, design your story, then guide your typist to get it all down on paper, virtual or real.

You must first master the inner workings of your subconscious before you can begin. Once you do, may you never ever suffer from Writer's Block again.

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Written by RioRamirez
Cure Writer's Block
From William Garner's article on LinkedIn:

Writer's Block Is a Real Phenomenon That Resides in Your Subconscious

In all my years of writing, I’ve suffered from several different maladies and conditions but never the one we all fear and loathe: Writer’s Block. This doesn’t mean I don’t understand it, though, because I do. I’ve studied it in other people over the decades and have formulated my hypothesis about it and what causes it.

Writer's Block resides deep within your subconscious and can be accessed primarily through dreams and dreaming, and sometimes consciously by communicating with that nagging little voice at the back of your mind.

I’ve done experiments on myself to artificially induce Writer’s Block, and have been overwhelmingly successful. Those results were a dubious success, of course, because no one wishes to suffer from this dreadful disease of the subconscious, let alone for any extended period of time. But at least I saw it first hand.

When I stated above that I’ve never suffered from Writer’s Block, I meant it while I was actively writing, not experimentally inducing it for the purpose of intensive study.

What Are Some of the Probable Causes of Writer’s Block?

There is no one cause, because Writer’s Block may surface slowly or all at once at any point in the writing process. If you’re at the very beginning, with not even a storyline in mind, and you can’t write even write that first word, then the cause may be lack of passion, direction or drive.

Of course, one of the worst causes is wanting desperately to write but not having anything to write about. The next is having too many distractions that cloud the whole dreaming, designing, building and writing process.

If you’re not passionate about what you do, then the art of writing becomes a chore, a drudgery. And you’ll likely not write much, or even finish your writing project. You must love what you wish to write about, be absolutely passionate about it, because this is a story that you will share with other people. Writing becomes a chore when you’re simply writing for money or a reason other than for passion.

I’ve read published books by authors who seemed to be doing it for the money, and it’s reflected in their work. I’ve also talked with authors who’ve told me their prime motivation was to earn lots of money. Some did it well, but their work wasn’t as good as others’ whose artwork was based on a deep-seated passion that underlies and fuels it.

Passion is a deep, often hidden desire to express yourself and what you have to say, what you believe in so fiercely that it must come out in some artistic form. And when it surfaces, it’s in the form of a book, your first book.

If you’re in the middle of actually writing your first book, and Writer’s Block creeps up on you and your work grinds to a halt, then the cause is more likely your not being in sufficient contact with your subconscious, such that when your subconscious needs to connect with your typist and it cannot, the subconscious gets pouty or just plain angry and closes down for a period of time.

This is the time you need to take a step back from your work and ask yourself: How am I not in good contact with my subconscious now? What happened such that I lost contact? And how do I get back on track?

You could be stressed out at work and this is impinging on your writing at night or on weekends. Your family may be undergoing a crisis, something that takes you away from your work and your subconscious’s working for you on your book project. You must notice what the cause is and do whatever it takes to assuage the negative effects so you can get back to the fun business of writing your first book.

If You Suffer From Writer's Block, Ask Yourself This Important Question

“Am I still passionate about writing this book?”

Could be that you initially started your first book because you were inspired by a lover who came into your life, turned it upside down, and you fell in love so deeply that you got lost in all that passion. You began writing about it and then, out of the blue, your lover suddenly disappeared . . . along with the fiery passion that had driven you to embark on the journey to begin with.

This happens sometimes. It’s not the end of the world, although the pain is often unbearable, not just the loss of a loved one but also the loss of your passion for writing a book you thought you would finish and get out there for all to read and appreciate.

It may be a good idea, too, to write down the question, say it aloud before you go to sleep, so your subconscious will hear you and come up with some answers. If your subconscious isn’t paying you much mind, for whatever reason, you may consider taking a long break from your project, say, a month, then returning to it with a fresh look.

If you have somehow lost interest in your writing project, or if your passion has waned even a little, then you might want to consider trying another approach to writing this particular book, or choose another idea altogether. This doesn’t mean you should quit your current project. It may need to ferment a bit more, so put it aside and try something else, another story idea.

What Is Your Subconscious and How Do You Communicate With It to Overcome Writer's Block?

One of the greatest creations in the Universe, besides majestic planets like Earth and powerful energy sources like our sun, is the human subconscious. It is in direct communication with the Universe, which suggests it also communicates collectively with the subconscious of others.

You do not have to believe in this line of thought to write anything, even though I have injected small hints that you should consider it. Whatever you choose to believe, the fact is that you must give your writing sufficient time to develop. Time comes in days, weeks and months.

I’ve studied the human subconscious, mostly in myself, since I was a child, wondering what inner engine drove me to do the things I did. I didn’t have to think about doing certain things, I just did them. Sometimes they were rational and positive; other times, not so.

One item I discovered over the years was that there was a clear line between what I did consciously and how my mind functioned subconsciously. When I went to sleep each night, I knew there was a whole different creature that came alive and took me on endless journeys through space and time, introducing me to new thoughts, ideas, beliefs and ways of doing things in my life.

Your Subconscious, or Inner CHILD, is a Real Person Inside You

Nearly 15 years ago, I woke up one morning and scrambled out of bed to write something down. Whatever was in my head at that moment had to come out and it wasn’t going to wait for my bus driver, my typist, to take dictation. It was coming in a flood and that was that.

When I got to my notepad, my hand started scribbling things down. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was writing, I just took it on faith that I had to do this.

After I was done autowriting, I looked at what had emerged: a single word, along with details about each letter of the word. It was an acronym, CHILD:

C: the little Child in you, the curious wide-eyed being that looks at the world without filters and preconceived notions about anything. A little sponge that senses things with wonder and awe.

H: the true Heart in you, the purely subjective part, filled with every conceivable emotion known.

I: your Intuition or information-gathering system, the sensory apparatus that receives every possible stimulus in the Universe, much like a radio receives radio signals to produce spoken word and songs.

L: the cold, stainless-steel Logic that sees the world purely objectively, like a robotic computer that takes in and analyzes things in a totally impartial and neutral way, without emotion of any kind.

D: the little Demon in you, that mischievous entity that plays pranks and does impish things. Can sometimes be very destructive and hurtful.

These entities all comprise the human subconscious, which is the true engine that drives each and every one of us in our daily lives. They all work together and, depending on how one’s DNA is wired, sometimes for good and sometimes for evil.

I will not get into the moral implications of good and evil, only stating that they exist in all of us to some extent and, in others, they comprise their whole being. Sociopaths and psychopaths are an example.

Destiny or Free Will? Both!

We can communicate with what I term our Inner CHILD, or we can ignore it and just float through life, going wherever it takes us.

I contend that we do have a destiny. Each of us, when we are conceived (not born), have a certain imprint from those celestial bodies that mediate and modulate our behaviors; in fact, everything we do in life. This is imprinted onto our DNA when it first forms chemically in that single cell that will later become an individual being.

When we are first imprinted by the Universe, using celestiophysics, we are then given a map of destiny that propels us through life. Some of us follow this map without much thought. Others, like me, question it each day and consciously make a choice whether to follow that map or go “off-map” and do something that we were not initially programmed to do. Again, most people do not pay much if any attention to their map of destiny. They simply live life and go with the flow.

There is nothing wrong with this approach, but wouldn’t it be cool if you actually knew how it worked so you could use this invaluable tool to your advantage?

These thoughts bring me to my personal philosophy, Subism. It holds that the human subconscious is direct communication with the Universe, and that celestial bodies (planets, stars, whatever) directly and indirectly influence all life on earth. The philosophers of old weren’t familiar with celestiophysics, so they formulated their own ideas about how humans operate and function, and what makes us do the things we do. I suggest that we do all the things we do because of the strong, inexorable influences of celestiophysics, which we can to some extent manipulate and control.

I have often wondered why we spend so much time trying to read the minds of other people when we should be learning how to read our own and get in touch with our own subconscious.

How Do You Use Your Inner CHILD to Help You Write?

We can start with something we all agree on: we dream a lot. Sometimes you may not recall each or any dream, but your subconscious is actively dreaming, sending little (and giant) messages up to your conscious self to do certain things, avoid other things. Dreams are one method the subconscious uses to communicate with your conscious self.

Interestingly, when your subconscious presents a dream to you, it does so in very rudimentary language. We dream in metaphors and symbols and motifs, not in complete film-like visions. Our Inner CHILD only knows one method of talking to our conscious self, and that is in the language of a child, a small voice that expresses itself using little vignettes that represent small words and actions. Curiously our subconscious also uses phrases and sayings from books or passages we've read or from certain songs we've heard.

I’ve never heard of anyone dreaming in the language of an adult. Never. If someone tells you that they do in fact dream this way, it’s not a deep-sleep dream but a lucid dream, one you actually control because you’re partly conscious.

During a very difficult time in my life some years back, I had a recurring dream: a was sitting in a bus filled with other people. I wasn’t talking or interacting with those people, just sitting alone and minding my own business. Then the bus suddenly filled with water, as if we’d just plunged into the middle of an ocean. No one around me moved an inch or spoke anything to me or to each other. They all just sat there as the bus filled with water. I looked around, saw stone-cold faces on my fellow passengers, and tried frantically to get out.

And then the dream went lucid, where I could actually manipulate the dream in a semi-conscious state. I changed the dream so I got out of that sinking bus.

Since I had already known that my Inner CHILD was responsible for communicating with me, I then figured out a way to interpret what my subconscious was trying to tell me. I didn’t get it at first, so the dream stayed with me each night for a week or so, until I woke up and listened to my subconscious. To interpret my dream, which was in the language of a child, I used the thoughts, ideas and words of a child, say, of about four years old.

When I used this method, interpreting the dream in a child’s voice, the dream became clear: “I can’t get out and no one will help me.” Simple as that.

The dream told me that I was in a world of hurt and no one was coming to my aid, even when I actively asked for help. In the real world, I was on my own. I have a term for that: yoyo, which means "you’re on your own" when things get really tough for you. I was yoyo for a long time, until I realized what was actually happening, then when I figured out my temporary predicament, I was able to change how I thought, how I acted, and consequently the actions I took to climb out of that dark hole, from inside that sinking bus.

You may be quick to dismiss this as overly simplistic. Please do not. Instead, try it for yourself, using previous dreams you've had, and try to corroborate the newly interpreted message with how things worked out for you subsequently.

How Do We Use Our Subconscious To Cure Writer's Block?

Once you follow the prescription below, your Writer's Block will slowly dissipate and disappear altogether.

Learn how to feed your subconscious properly, to nurture it. You would do this with a human child, wouldn’t you? Your Inner CHILD is even more important. It’s the entity within yourself that guides you through every moment of your entire life. How could you not want to nurture such a being?

Your Inner CHILD is energetic and rambunctious, has a voracious appetite for new adventures and actions, so get out in the world and do stuff. Travel to new places, meet new people, eat new foods, explore new vistas. If you cannot afford to go to Europe or Africa, then explore your own town or city, or maybe drive to the next state and see what’s up there.

If those things are not in your current budget, then find a way to make it happen, now that you know your Inner CHILD needs these things. You need these things, too, dear Writer.

Your subconscious loves to run and jump and play around, so get out and exercise your body, even if it’s a long walk or hike. If you’re going to be a sedentary writer, then your subconscious will eventually rebel. Yes, I do know some overweight writers who do well, but they don’t last too long. Unfortunately, they die young and the being that dies first is their Inner CHILD.

This explains how people sometimes grow cold and distant, and they lose their humanity. In reality, they’re losing the most important part of them—their subconscious.
The CHILD inside you needs stimulation, and the world around you provides just that, so please take full advantage of your atmosphere and make it a daily routine to get out of your office and home and see different and stimulating sites, absorb what you sense all around you, roll in the grass, get dirty and make mud pies . . . something. There’s a new movement out there that is telling all of us to “ground” ourself with the earth. Actually get down on the bare ground and let it touch your skin. The earth is one giant healing mechanism, so find out more about grounding and then implement your new-found knowledge.

What else? Take trips to local stores, shops, museums, businesses that produce something interesting to see designed or in the process of being built. Feed your imagination ‘til its cup runneth over. There are no penalties for overfilling that cup. When your subconscious has had enough, it will tell you.

Go to shows, films, performances and watch the beautiful artwork of people who are just like you: they have a dream, they design and build it, then they do whatever it takes to implement it. Seeing the art of others is inspiring on all levels, especially when they’re actually creating it.

Visit the local hardware store and look at all the tools and items that are used to build things. Check out a restaurant and see how they prepare their meals. I feel it a grand experience to observe artists designing and building things, because it’s not unlike what I do when I create my own stories. In fact, watching other artists may be the most inspiring thing you can witness for yourself when you go out on these little excursions. I love watching glass-blowers! Especially the truly great ones who produce the world’s finest artisan glasswork, those Murano artists in Italy! Wow, they’re amazing to watch. When I’m done witnessing world-class art in motion, I leave with an all-body tingle that’s right up there with the best orgasms ever. Now that is a powerful thought, huh? What an inspiration!

The point is to experience how people outside you and your world of friends and acquaintances conduct their lives and do what they do. When you do, you become a part of their work, too, and you fuel their own desires and passions. You become a part of their artistic process. Let these artists do the same for you.

If your story is set in a beachside resort, go find one and write from there. If you can’t afford to be there, then find a nice area at a beach where you can write and be inspired. Maybe your story takes place in a cool dive bar. Find one and soak up the atmosphere for a few hours. Try not to drink too much or you may not get as much work done. Oh, and please remember: beer all over a keyboard is major notgoodness.

Get Off Your Tush and Connect With Real Human Beings

People make the world go round. And round. When I sometimes forget to get out of my office, which I love, I find that I miss the company of good people. So I jump out of my chair and go find someone to say hello to, ask questions about them, take an interest in another human being, share my own thoughts and experiences with them.

Connecting with another human being is one of the most important acts we should perform on a regular basis. When we don’t, we get lonely and grumpy. Your Inner CHILD does not make a good companion when it’s idle, lonely, cranky and without proper stimulation from the outside world. Use is or you lose it.

Eat something different each day. It doesn’t take much to break up your diet, so try a new cuisine on Friday night, share it with friends, savor every bite. Your subconscious will be as joyful as your conscious self, I promise you.

Considering all the nourishment I suggest above, one item is very clear: it all feeds your subconscious with new stimuli that will aid you in curing Writer's Block and help you write whatever you wish.

How Do You Listen to Your Inner CHILD When It Speaks to You?

First, let’s consider when your subconscious is actually trying to tell you something. An example: you’re sitting in a chair, writing away and you get this nagging voice inside your head that says you need a small pillow at your lower back. Don’t ignore it.

This is your subconscious telling you something: I want to feel comfortable when I tell you this cool story to write.

Those little voices that creep up at all times of the day and night are the core of your subconscious trying to tell you something. You should listen to those voices. Now, if they tell you to go out and run over the first pedestrian you come across, I would think really hard before carrying out that command. If you listen to voices like that, someone will probably have you committed or take you out back and tie you to a tree. How’s that for grounding?

When you hear the calling of your subconscious, please take a listen, pay attention to what it is trying to say, then, provided the command is a reasonable one, please act on it. Once you start listening to your subconscious, it will say, “Aha, my human is finally listening to me! Way to go!” And, from that point forward, if you continue to listen to your subconscious, it will give you more and more great knowledge and information that will not only enhance your life, but also cure Writer's Block and help you write better.

Communicating with your subconscious is not that challenging. Again, if it tells you to do something and you do it, then you’re effectively communicating with your subconscious. Keep doing it. And when you go to bed at night (or during the day, depending on your lifestyle and schedule), ask out loud and write down some questions or topics that you want your subconscious to mull over while your typist and bus driver are passed out for eight hours. When those guys are comatose, your subconscious is hard at play on its own eight-hour vacation.

How To Train Your Subconscious to Work For You

The more you listen to your subconscious, the more it will talk back and provide the information you need. You can train it to give you more and more information by asking questions, writing them down, then sleeping on them. Keep asking the same questions over and over until you get what you want. When asking questions or asking for help, please be kind to your subconscious.

Remember: your subconscious is a child and understands when you are being impatient or downright tedious. You know how people say to treat yourself kindly and gently? They’re really saying you should be kind and gentle to your subconscious.

The reason I suggest you say what you want out loud is because when you speak it and hear your own words, your brain stores and processes that information in different areas, which work in unison to come to your aid. When you physically write it down, that too is stored and processed in another part of your brain. When you read your own words, that is also stored and processed in yet a different part of your brain.

These working areas are also complex computing centers that help to enhance what you desire and wish for, and they help your subconscious make those wishes and dreams come true.

Training your subconscious involves all the above steps, plus actively talking to it, and not just before you go to sleep. You can have meaningful conversations with your subconscious, not only asking questions but also asking for guidance and assistance. The more you communicate with it, the more it responds and with better and more relevant information that will help and guide you accurately.

The only time my subconscious has failed me is when I have ignored it. That fact, in itself, I find fascinating and compelling. My subconscious has never steered me in the wrong or in a negative direction. Ever. When I’ve chosen to go off-map, then sometimes I’ve gotten into trouble. Yes, I’ve learned a lot from those experiential experiences, especially when off-map, but I’ve also paid a steep price for venturing off my Universal path.

Talk to the Individual Components of Your Subconscious

You also can talk to the individual components of your subconscious. It takes time and effort, but you can do it. I’ve often consulted my Logic element to get an objective view on a particular subject. And when I’ve needed to discuss something about my love life, I’ve talked to my Heart.

Having five separate ultra-complex computer modules inside your head is like having a team of experts of the Universe at your beck and call. Thing is, you must treat that team nicely and with great respect or it will ignore you and your queries. Your subconscious will never be vengeful and send you down a wrong path; only your conscious self does that.

The worst you can expect from your subconscious is silence, and that is the most crushing thing that could happen to your beautiful mind, not having the backing of one of the mightiest beings in the Universe.

This may be one of the causes of Writer's Block: your subconscious shutting down.

When Your Subconscious Goes Dark

When your subconscious fails to talk to you or communicate with you, something is very wrong. Remember that your subconscious is a child, so it needs special attention. Like I said, it will never steer you wrong, but it may ignore you. If it does, ask what’s up. Yes, really.

When you go to bed, write down that question, plus a few others: Are you okay? Have I done something really dumb to make you ignore me? What am I doing wrong here? How can I get back on track? Will you please help me?

The times I’ve had my subconscious go silent, they were when I was not treating myself well. I’ve had some challenging jobs in my life—scientist, Army Ranger, corporate security specialist—and each one has brought on a host of problems and challenges that drove me bananas at times. Sometimes after very difficult days, I would drink one too many beers, which is a great way to shut down one’s subconscious.

Point is, I abused myself and I paid for it, not only externally but also internally. Be kind and gentle to yourself, and your subconscious will thank you for it in ways you cannot even imagine now.

Your Subconscious Will Cure Writer's Block and Write Everything For You

All you need to do is nurture it and treat it like it’s the most precious thing in the Universe. It will help you cure Writer's Block, design your story, then guide your typist to get it all down on paper, virtual or real.

You must first master the inner workings of your subconscious before you can begin. Once you do, may you never ever suffer from Writer's Block again.
#fantasy  #scifi  #fiction  #nonfiction  #romance  #horror  #adventure  #education  #childrens  #poetry  #science  #philosophy  #spirituality  #news  #writersblock 
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Written by PaulDChambers in portal Poetry & Free Verse

biting bats

Spikes of fight or flight

flash through his mortal

sac of skin and regrets;

dragging screaming ghosts,

a thousand aborted retorts

and words that befell deaf ears.

The same rictus grin grimaces

back, a thousand-fold from the

hall of mirrors in his oily mind,

assuring all that he is fine.

No, really. These bats flutter

around me, but they rarely bite.

43
11
8
Juice
138 reads
Donate coins to PaulDChambers.
Juice
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Written by PaulDChambers in portal Poetry & Free Verse
biting bats
Spikes of fight or flight
flash through his mortal
sac of skin and regrets;
dragging screaming ghosts,
a thousand aborted retorts
and words that befell deaf ears.

The same rictus grin grimaces
back, a thousand-fold from the
hall of mirrors in his oily mind,
assuring all that he is fine.
No, really. These bats flutter
around me, but they rarely bite.
#poetry  #philosophy  #mentalhealth  #anxiety  #fuckedupshit 
43
11
8
Juice
138 reads
Load 8 Comments
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