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In reality, we are all travelers - even explorers of mortality.

quote by Thomas S. Monson
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The Travelers

We're travelers and we have no home,
We're travelers and we are trying to atone,
We're travelers and we have no name,
We're travelers with no one to blame,

Travelers who have no shame,
Travelers who all look the same,
Travelers who still love you,
But we prefer skies blue,

We don't play the game you do,
We also never feel blue,
We only know what is true,
We also know what's good for you,

We don't need your superstition,
We can't believe in repetition,
We don't like your traditions,
We only have our intuition,

We're travelers, we can take the pain,
We're travelers, you think we're insane,
We're travelers, we see your principles sway,
We're travelers, we still love you anyway,

Traveling time, through dirt and grime,
Hoping one day to align,
Our hearts and minds,
Travelers who will leave a sign of better times.

5 December 2012

poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Edge Of Reality

(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
I walk along a thin line darling
Dark shadows follow me
Heres where lifes dream lies disillusioned
The edge of reality
Oh I can hear strange voices echo
Laughing with mockery
The border line of doom Im facing
The edge of reality
On the edge of reality she sits there tormenting me
The girl with the nameless face
On the edge of reality where she overpowers me
With fears that I cant explain
She drove me to the point of madness
The brink of misery
If shes not real then Im condemned to
The edge of reality
On the edge of reality she sits there tormenting me
The girl with the nameless face
On the edge of reality where she overpowers me
With fears that I cant explain
She drove me to the point of madness
The brink of misery
If shes not real then Im condemned to
The edge of reality
Reality, reality, reality, reality,
Reality, reality, reality, reality

song performed by Elvis Presley
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Drink of This Cup

Drink of this cup; -- you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen;
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
Would you forget the dark world we are in
Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it;
But would you rise above earth, till akin
To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it!
Send round the cup -- for oh there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

Never was philter form'd with such power
To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing;
Its magic began when, in Autumn's rich hour,
A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing.
There having, by Nature's enchantment, been fill'd
With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd
To enliven such hearts as are here brought together.
Then drink of the cup -- you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps -- but breathe it to no one --
Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful,
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on,
Yet 'tisn't less potent for being unlawful.
And, even though it taste of the smoke of that flame
Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden --
Fill up -- there's a fire in some hearts I could name,
Which may work too its charm, though as lawless and hidden.
So drink of the cup -- for oh there's a spell in
Its very drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen!
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

poem by Thomas Moore
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Stream Line Consciousness

Big brother voyeur blimps unidentified spies
uncle sam peeping toms patrolling skies
bird brain police intelligence
remote viewing homeland pest control
pentagon private eye monitoring the public's every move
mass produced micro chips intercepting prayers patrolling citizens from heaven
Bentham's Panopticon NSA
super computer surveillance cameras
world police spying Manhattan streets

'Athens plummets Euro death spiral
suicide rates soar deepening into despair'

haaretz..the post.. the times
blogs tribunes dailies all in a mad gab
headlong headline attention grabbing scramble

'Yugoslavia - Iraq - Egypt - Yemen - Iran - Syria - United States'
bilderberg building blocks New American Century post apocalyptic prophecy

'foreign mercenaries …national guard...DOD
homeland security to amass covert munitions stockpile
Americans on guard anxieties mounting surrounding
the stripping of amendments 1st if you swing to your left
2nd if you stand on the right
whispers of martial law circulate Anarchical reverberations
emanate from internet Alt culture epicenters
bottle necking global tensions'

'common feeling of deepening disappointment...
heightened expectations...
people expecting an explosive situation over the
next few weeks'

...riot police respond 'to preserve public order'
public roads barricaded to 'protect security of citizens'

'blatant act of censorship
western mainstream media staying away
from Myanmar massacres of Mohammedan Angels
further showing strong anti Muslim bias'

'Media blackout Burmese army
seeking coverage under propaganda blankets'

from the middle east throughout the western world
planet consciousness blurring lines between conspiracy/reality
conflicting global network narratives multiply violent scenarios daily
Victims in a world wide scramble
Government Banking Military

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Reality's Dream

I staggered back from the blow;
Reality struck me again
this time harder
mocking me as I fell.

'You have always been so clear about
your plans and goals haven't you;
clear about what you wanted to achieve or know
how you would overcome all obstacles
but Pilgrim you had no plan B;
I always grant people like you
first place in my line
because you all are Prisoners Of Your Own Dreams and Schemes
hurtling through life 'Dreamers of the Impossible Dream'
Perfection's Confection blinds you by its own light-
wouldn't you agree? '

I gradually regained my feet and
stared into those unforgiving, taunting eyes
thinking strangely
that Reality is much like a bully.

'And hear you are now, ' Reality was saying
'alone
without family or friends
clutching to those dreams
which will never come true
being instead
here now
my prisoner
for all eternity

forced now to worship
at my altar.

He cackled a horrible cackle.

I looked at him in a haze
realizing he had a point
but too
that moment
exposed Reality's
own weaknesses:
he was counting upon my apathy-
my sense of defeat-
to make me surrender to him
believe in him and his power.

I rose
stared at him

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Reality (1st of Seven Secondary Virtues)

Poem Title: (Reality) 1st of Seven Secondary Virtues of a Happy Marriage

Poem 174 b …. Title : (Reality) 1st of Seven Secondary Virtues of a Happy Marriage.

Subject Reality...As a Human being.A creature that cuts down trees, then to pulp in a machine.
As an attempt to manufacture a cost effective way of transmitting News to all the World.
Most of which is of Climate Change and full of subjective slogans on how we must save the trees!

Real Reality..... How about this Poet? Who lives within a Fantasy of Trust whereby he allows
His Loving Partner to hold the sacred knowledge of the password to his private website.
And always knowing this, knew that anything that he did write could then be read in true Reality.

Hypo statical Reality ….As a Happy Marriage holds three levels of Hypo stasis in a given day.
Blood pressure rising or falling in anticipation as to the level of eggs that he be treading upon.
Metaphysically thinking and speaking in riddles or codes too, for all time to confuse an enemy.

Beyond the wit of Reality........ Any Happy Marriage is beholding three levels of wit.
The wit of knowing when to sleep with the wisest of wise tongues keeping the wisest of heads.
The wit of the pretence of reality and being wide wide wide awake too a Lovers every need.

The Fantasy of the Reality.....Of any Happy Marriage is the joint ability to understand difference.
Difference in attitude, Man to Woman, Woman to Man.Lie to Exaggeration, Exaggerative Lie.
Fantasy of the moment, of the drudgery of daily grinds or the reality of a magic carpet ride.

The Reality of a Happy Marriage is striving to achieve to score the winning Goal in allotted time.
Loosing score, playing two halves plus extra time and neither gaining upper hand through penalties
Real Subjective Reality, Hypo static God Head to prevail by use of Wit and Prose and Pure Fantasy!

(Written 13th July 2010) A Triversen at first attempt. Success or Failure (Time will tell)

poem by Philip Winchester
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Passage To India

SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,)
In the Old World, the east, the Suez canal,
The New by its mighty railroad spann'd,
The seas inlaid with eloquent, gentle wires,
I sound, to commence, the cry, with thee, O soul,
The Past! the Past! the Past!

The Past! the dark, unfathom'd retrospect! 10
The teeming gulf! the sleepers and the shadows!
The past! the infinite greatness of the past!
For what is the present, after all, but a growth out of the past?
(As a projectile, form'd, impell'd, passing a certain line, still
keeps on,
So the present, utterly form'd, impell'd by the past.)

Passage, O soul, to India!
Eclaircise the myths Asiatic--the primitive fables.

Not you alone, proud truths of the world!
Nor you alone, ye facts of modern science!
But myths and fables of eld--Asia's, Africa's fables! 20
The far-darting beams of the spirit!--the unloos'd dreams!
The deep diving bibles and legends;
The daring plots of the poets--the elder religions;
--O you temples fairer than lilies, pour'd over by the rising sun!
O you fables, spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known,
mounting to heaven!
You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish'd
with gold!
Towers of fables immortal, fashion'd from mortal dreams!
You too I welcome, and fully, the same as the rest;
You too with joy I sing.

Passage to India! 30
Lo, soul! seest thou not God's purpose from the first?
The earth to be spann'd, connected by net-work,
The people to become brothers and sisters,
The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage,
The oceans to be cross'd, the distant brought near,
The lands to be welded together.

(A worship new, I sing;
You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours!
You engineers! you architects, machinists, your!
You, not for trade or transportation only, 40

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Vision Of The Maid Of Orleans - The First Book

Orleans was hush'd in sleep. Stretch'd on her couch
The delegated Maiden lay: with toil
Exhausted and sore anguish, soon she closed
Her heavy eye-lids; not reposing then,
For busy Phantasy, in other scenes
Awakened. Whether that superior powers,
By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,
Instructing so the passive faculty;
Or that the soul, escaped its fleshly clog,
Flies free, and soars amid the invisible world,
And all things 'are' that 'seem'.

Along a moor,
Barren, and wide, and drear, and desolate,
She roam'd a wanderer thro' the cheerless night.
Far thro' the silence of the unbroken plain
The bittern's boom was heard, hoarse, heavy, deep,
It made most fitting music to the scene.
Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind,
Swept shadowing; thro' their broken folds the moon
Struggled sometimes with transitory ray,
And made the moving darkness visible.
And now arrived beside a fenny lake
She stands: amid its stagnate waters, hoarse
The long sedge rustled to the gales of night.
An age-worn bark receives the Maid, impell'd
By powers unseen; then did the moon display
Where thro' the crazy vessel's yawning side
The muddy wave oozed in: a female guides,
And spreads the sail before the wind, that moan'd
As melancholy mournful to her ear,
As ever by the dungeon'd wretch was heard
Howling at evening round the embattled towers
Of that hell-house of France, ere yet sublime
The almighty people from their tyrant's hand
Dash'd down the iron rod.
Intent the Maid
Gazed on the pilot's form, and as she gazed
Shiver'd, for wan her face was, and her eyes
Hollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrowed deep,
Channell'd by tears; a few grey locks hung down
Beneath her hood: then thro' the Maiden's veins
Chill crept the blood, for, as the night-breeze pass'd,
Lifting her tattcr'd mantle, coil'd around
She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.

The plumeless bat with short shrill note flits by,
And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,
Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid
Look'd to the shore, and now upon the bank

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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Reality Sucks

O.k. maybe you know it better
Oh oh reality sucks
Nobody helps you to make it feel better
Oh oh reality sucks
And youre a dropout that stays away
Might be that evil took over
Oh oh reality sucks
Youre getting to old now
To cause a stampede
Oh oh reality sucks
So youre boozing your life away
Youre blown your brain away
Reality sucks
Oho reality sucks
Now you see your life has passed you by
Oh oh reality sucks
You took a shortcut
Through the junkyard of life
Maybe thats why reality sucks
Now youre boozing your life away
Blowing your head away
But dreams didnt make your day
cause reality sucks
Oh oh reality sucks
Reality sucks

song performed by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
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Gotta Have You

Never been too much for watching
Cause theres too many things to view
And when eyes begin to wander
They more than likely never get through
But beyond my own temptation
Im enticed by what I see
And I wont feel satisfaction
Until shes where I want her to be
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
I gotta make you my reality
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
Come on girl, make you my reality
Never been too much for talking
Cause theres too many things to say
And by the time that I start speaking
The right moment has slipped away
But I must break this old tradition
And try to muster up the words
And though someone else may have said them
Ill say them in way youve never heard
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
Ive gotta make you my reality
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
Come on girl, make you my reality
Gotta be, gotta be, gotta be reality, baby
Gotta be, gotta be, gotta be reality, baby
(repeat)
Never been too much for touching
Cause theres too many things to feel
Plus theres too much disappointment
When you find out those feelings aint real
But heres a time when inner senses
Are gonna have to shine the light
Cause I have overly committed
Myself in thinking that youre alright
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
I gotta make you my reality
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see

[...] Read more

song performed by Stevie Wonder
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Because I Don't Confront You

Because I don't confront you
doesn't mean this tree
doesn't know how to stand up to the wind.
If I bend like a river reed in a current
I'll still be here
long after the current has passed.
To the unenlightened it's inconceivable
there's nothing to win
because both opposites are empty.
Take empty from empty it's still empty.
No reason to put a gun to your head to check it out.
Just because you've got a trigger
like the first crescent of the moon
doesn't mean you have to pull it.
Three for three.
Blood and cartridges.
Strange lipstick.
But you're still banking on the one that's empty.
Those that have the power to hurt
but will do none.
Shakespeare.
Sonnet 94.
Lonely advice to those who never take it.
And it's not hard to imagine
better things to do in the world
than trade barbs and stingers
with third world killer bees.
And there's nothing unholier than a holy war.
Or a faith that festers
because it doesn't know
how to clean a wound properly.
Even maggots make better nurses than that.
And besides
as unlikely as it seems at times
I'd rather be loved than right.
I don't want to lie down with a woman at night
like a body count.
You say I'm not in touch with reality
as if reality were some kind of guillotine
you expected me to stick my neck out for
swanning on the block.
No.
I don't stay in touch much
with French executioners.
But I can see the world as you see it.
A snakepit with the occasional apple-tree.
You think of reality as a hard medicine
you have to wince like a lemon to take
but if you ask me
the way you put it

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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We Are 'All' Sunset Travelers

We are 'all' sunset travelers.
Some arising in dawns long past,
Now to find our afternoons...
Rushing to caress an horizon,
Beginning to crest the West.
With assorted memories blessed.

We are 'all' sunset travelers!
And yes,
Some of us do prefer those dawns,
Remembered.
But the rest...
Have come to enjoy,
Such an enlightened ride.

Inspired and Dedicated:
Sandra Fowler
United States

'We are all sunset travelers.
Sandra had stated to me.
And I agree. Thank you Sandra.'

~lsp~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Banyan Tree Vavroovahana Patra

Banyan tree looks beautiful;
Birds fly on the tree are delightful.
Beauteous is the environment;
Beautiful leaves provide merriment.

Green trees provide oxygen daily;
God guys and girls rest beneath the tree gaily.
Glad lovers derive peace;
Glamorous atmosphere provides Divine Bliss.

Valley’s trees attract travelers;
Valiant poets enjoy the beauty with pleasure.
Various birds play on the tree gaily;
Vagabond boys enjoy the beauty enthusiastically.

The tree on road side entices women, men daily;
Travelers enjoy the beauty gaily.
Birds fly gleefully;
Children plays beneath the tree pleasantly.

Nature lures all travelers;
Provides peace pleasure.
Beauty of Nature is enticing;
Poets are delighting.

poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Blooming 18

Reality reality reality is always
You tattooed yourself what a piece of art
Youve already broken your mothers heart
When I was your age working my ass off
Your generations soft
Reality is always such a drag
For barely blooming eighteens
The barely blooming eighteen
Wants to know
Whats keeping her from searching
You cannot pierce that and
Youre dressed too tight
Got a lot to learn about wrong and right
So dye you hair, dads gonna wash it out
Come on wash out your mouth
Reality is always such a drag
For barely blooming eighteens
The barely blooming eighteen
Wants to know
Whats hiding in the shadow
Reality reality reality is always
Reality is always...

song performed by Ace Of Base
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Young Explorers

Two young lions surveyed the land
And paused to take it in,
As if the future could be planned,
So they would always win.
With hiding places here and there,
Shade from the burning sun
And danger spots they must beware,
Yet spaces they could run...
Life wasn't always hide and seek,
Life wasn't always bright...
For soon the day would pass its peak
And fade into the night...
Two young lions with lots to learn,
Exploring now and then.
When hunting, they must twist and turn
To help them catch again.
For now, they stood with dignity
And with a sense of pride...
Majestically and mightily,
As brothers, side-by-side.
Two young lions must carry on
The legacy of life,
Aware, they, too, will soon be gone,
Though battling to survive.
Their journey started years ago
When they were cubs at play...
Not knowing who was friend or foe,
Until they found their way...
Two young lions, aware, astute...
At one with Nature's Laws...
To children's eyes, they may look cute,
Yet watch those teeth and claws!
The young explorers hold no grudge
When things are fair and square.
Most of the time, they don't ask much...
They'll take the lions' share...

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Young Explorers'.

poem by Denis Martindale
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The Tree of Waking Life

The tree that says with elation,
'I think I'll fly instead.
Although there's but water in my roots
to last me through the day,
today will be the finest day
I've ever seen or heard of.'
Is the tree I sing my ode to,
The Tree of Waking Life.

The tree upon whose branches
I am so tempted to rest,
but it laughs and calls me foolish,
and gives but one suggestion.
'Men are not meant to be reflections,
but forms of their very own.
Not shadows of their fathers,
but explorers of this stone.'

The tree that will die
from its curious internal lust,
and will curl a fulfilled smile
across its bark encrusted lips,
and sleep as a child with steady mind,
The Tree of Waking Life.
The tree that says with elation,

'I think I'll fly instead.
there is but water in my roots
to last me through the day,
but today will be the finest day
for I will fly today.'

Is the tree I sing my ode to,
The Tree of Waking Life.

The tree upon whose branches
I am so tempted to rest,
but it laughs and calls me foolish,
and gives but one suggestion.

'Men are not meant to be reflections,
but forms of their very own.
Not shadows of their fathers,
but explorers of this stone.'

And as the sun begins to set
and its leaves begin to wilt
when its too weak to control its flight
it will sleep the sleep of a pleasant child
the Tree of Waking Life.

poem by Andy Carl
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This So-called Miracle

Chorus/intro:
Its gonna take a miracle
To give up my hope and get on with my life
Oh that mystic moment
A split-second stop
Of my heart
And with this miracle
Comes unwanted reality
cause this so-called miracle
Has turned into a tragedy
Verse 1:
Baby, what ever did I do (I do, I do, I do...)
To make you not only turn away
But turn, oh so far away
Never considering turning back
Verse 2:
I need you to know Ill never smile
Until we reconcile (until we reconcile)
I know now that that wont happen
Somehow Ill try and cope
But I just cant get out of my head
That glimmer of hope
Everybody tells me I need time away from you
But your the only thing in my world
And thats the last thing I wanna do
Chorus
Verse 3:
Baby, whatever did I do
To make you not only go away
But twist every word I say
To make the tables turn.....
Verse 4:
Youre sayin Im the one whos at the core
Yes, Im the one who glanced at the door
(oh, slammed the door)
But youre the one who turned the handle
Tried to burn the candle at both ends
At both ends you lead me
On and on and on
You really, really took me
Now youve left, my mind is gone (when you left)
Chorus:
And its gonna take a miracle (its gonna take a miracle)
To give up my hope and get on with my life
Mystic moment
A split-second stop
Of my heart
And in this miracle
Comes unwanted reality (I dont want a reality)
cause this so-called miracle

[...] Read more

song performed by Debbie Gibson
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Which Is Which

> To beware of the truth.
> Is truth...it, self?
> So, what is truth?
>
> Is truth, true love?
> Or...just a reality?
> To be a man...is that truth?
>
> A man...is reality.
> A woman...is reality.
> To be woman...is that truth?
>
> To have more then one partner
> Is a reality of the world.
>
> Which this world agrees.
> Truth is; in my point of view
> Is what one claims to be truth.
>
> But, the truth is whatever you
> Are doing as I speak.
> A woman is good for the soul.
>
> That truth is very bold.
> A man lives for his manhood
> So I am told.
>
> Is it truth or reality?
> Respect is in the middle of the spectrum.
> Male vs. Female
>
>
> That is truth.
> Man being woman
> A reality.
>
> Woman being man...
> She tries.
> Respect cover both the unreal and the wise.
>
> Truth or reality...we never really
> Give it much thought.
> Maybe it was the way we are taught.
>
> Truth or reality...
> Which is Which?
>
>
> whisperkwane
>

[...] Read more

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Endymion: Book III

There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe
Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount
To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones--
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone--
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.--
Are then regalities all gilded masks?
No, there are throned seats unscalable
But by a patient wing, a constant spell,
Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd,
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind,
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents
To watch the abysm-birth of elements.
Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate
A thousand Powers keep religious state,
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne;
And, silent as a consecrated urn,
Hold sphery sessions for a season due.
Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few!
Have bared their operations to this globe--
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe
Our piece of heaven--whose benevolence
Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,
As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud
'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
She unobserved steals unto her throne,
And there she sits most meek and most alone;
As if she had not pomp subservient;
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,

[...] Read more

poem by John Keats
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After The Funeral

The Past departed with the last forced mourners, whose facial expressions, with their tremolo of tics, - tell-tale suppressions, - told of fear. Tension in tightened corners of mouth and eyes. terror, surprise, trembling, cries, each would disguise anguish masked, questions unanswered here, unwelcome intimations of mortality.

The Past departed, partly of its own accord, parts, shut out, ignored, roles played out as few could yet afford to flout morality. Time’s uncertainties by Time itself underscored. Departure leaving absence of feeling, - absence of feeling hermetically sealing from mind and face all trace of childhood innocence.

In place of innocence and grace, - Loss, emptiness! Emptiness here an imperfect vacuum open unto wilderness of self-delusion of strength, which, all the more fragile for its brave face, is self-defeating. A vacuum is strong, can do no wrong, being internally self sufficient.

The Past departed; at first sight seeming to ease out emotion. threat squeezing, freezing, unappeasingly diseasing. The surface calm afforded no balm, no outlet for the lotion that soothes the spirit, dowsing suffering and pain, incorporating the magic potion which to love and light restores the soul through tears. Tears, in childhood and advancing years, cleanse fears.

Superficial calm masks the rampant tiger of repression whose fire eyes prowl through the layers of sensation to plough the deep recesses of the mind, exploding the barriers which we, in our blindness, instinctively erect. Too soon we lose the key to unlock them, thus we restrain Love’s passage to the world.

Yet, although fears increase, prevent release, distort the soul, fragment the whole, there too are feeling forces, secret sources which well up and chart twin courses down the cheeks from which the heart’s resources spring, may bring relief, sing peace.

The Past departed with the last forced mourners, Their dark impressions cold and drear, conscience unclear. Unwelcome intimations of mortality pervasively intruded, could not disappear. Release was a luxury few could afford. Terror, surprise, tension in tightened corners of mouth and eyes. The dreaded shadow loomed as surface distress, masking primal self-pity, angrily welled up, and, for the living, shed a tear.

Part of its own accord, part shut out, ignored, the Past departed with the last forced mourners. Their drawn expressions, torn by tics, told of fear. Unwelcome intimations of mortality suddenly intruded, and would not disappear. Release was a luxury few could afford. Terror, surprise, tension in tightened corners of mouth and eyes. The dreaded shadow loomed near, as surface distress, masking primal self-pity, angrily welled up, and, for the living, shed a tear.

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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