Salvete Omni

My meditation is surrounded by nature,
Vivid veracity decorated by imagery
True from the hair shimmering from
Your name

Earth, you and your guests sing
To me, diving from expansive
Waters splishsplashing with word
Covered droplets echoing into a
Bird's song

"Laudo" I call outward, mind stretching
Toward your complete perfection
And here your wind echoes like
Water droplets with dancers as trees
Singing beautifully as brilliant birds fly near,
Louder, Louder

"Salvete, Omni" I greet your magnificence
Wholeheartedly knowing your presence is
Always around and speaking, praising
Omniscient and omnipotent powers as
I hear your song riding like feather's upon
A bird's swift wing with the breeze's thunderous
Always response

"Immortalis ductus" I am here to learn
Are you here to teach?


I hear nature's response become me

ee

"A natural citizen of immortality... He is a little more than everything,he is democracy;he is alive: he is ourselves.

Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: they are by somebody who can love and who shall be continually reborn,a human being;somebody who said to those near him,when his fingers would not hold a brush "tie it into my hand"-

Never the murdered finalities of wherewhen and yesno,impotent nongames of wrongright and rightwrong;never to gain or pause,never the soft adventure of undoom,greedy anguishes and cringing ecstasies of inexistence;never to rest and never to have:only to grow.

Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question"

Books: Veritas "Ver iam"

There's no prompt, not here...
There's no theory, not directly...
There's some translation of living...
There's some approximation of existing...

Where here becomes else is
Where here coincides with me...
Where this universe is lost through possibility...

Here pages of words like spells open portals
Here multiverses are created, forever immortals.




I read these pages, these pages upon pages of texts... Each story a new world, a new reality, a universe not quite where I am, or not quite where I was. I recognize the fact that I am happy as I explore. The book closes, and I am taken away. I alter and transform the hand of reality, finding myself somewhere new. Inside of these pages I create. There are no restrictions, the world does not withhold the reader's imagination, at least until the pages close like a portal to somewhere beyond. Truth becomes an action and reaction from minds to ideas, thoughts, and creations.



Magic. Truth. Magic. Truth.

These two words are not so different, are they? The four look balanced together like a couple repeated. My pages overflow with magic. Poets recounting miracles explored, originators writing of loneliness and pain changing a world which once tried to change them, each exploring limitless truth and possibility. Escaping from a reality which refuses to accept- from there what occurs? One, in turn, refuses to accept it, altering the very fabric of reality. Some become overjoyed as this transformation occurs, as an individual grows beyond the grasp of their roots. There's a newness to this. New groups of people arise. Old groups react. Inwardly, they wish to force the other to return, to return to the mundaneness and stagnative existence of snobbery and unmagic, a world of untruth.

String Theories become a thread linking one from universe to universe, with a trail of words and pages, a trail of memories and shifted realities. Quantum physics begins to give power to a thought, where every thought becomes a thing creating, creating. Philosophy calls forth for a thinker's thoughts always proven by a prover. An author creates, originates this universe to a multiverse known only as truth. What the thinker thinks, the provers prove... Thoughts becoming things, becoming things...


Magic. Truth. Magic. Truth.

What could be more important than believing and allowing others to believe?

Magic. Truth. Magic. Truth.


A magician inquires, what sets us aside? Is it the loneliness, the pain, is it a reaction to a world which always has tried to force us to become something we're not? Is it the pain of knowing there's something inside of you which is different, or knowing there is something outside of you which is different? Is it being one who knows how to believe? Is it mere knowledge?



I listen as my thoughts collide with the world, changing, forming, morphing, creating...
I pick up a book, wishing only to learn more.

Veritas explore... iam, iam...

Sa (L'Ve) te

Two apart my heart and soul to i
to find You


So...l_ving

poems like riddles...




                                                                       






         clouds                                 cLouds
These nimbus clouds       These nimbus clouds
         clouds                                 cLouds
  
             L                                         P


                                                    R
                 A                                A
          U                                               i
              
               D                                    s
           A                                             E





Raining magnanimusly            puddles of drops...
 ...Adieu, Adieu...                    ...Adieu, Adieu...
   

"Thou Sing A Little Church... i"

Love, your embrace remains a wake
In the lake of my past. I make
Miniature ripples where I peer
Near enough to see near
Your heavenly eyes.
Distant love, nameless future,
Where am I to drive through
These lonely days? To lands of
Wishes? To the cloud guiding
Me to hear your perfect song?
To there where imagination watches
Our Lips touch as every flower
Kisses springs omnipotence...
Love, centered, you remain my core,
The altar to my secret temple,
The meaning behind my holiest hymn.

Love, where Always-Winter Warms
To Spring, comes beautifully a reawakening...

Sadness

Every Word

Every Word Remains

A Double Edged Sword

Every Thing Remains

Strangely Planned

As if I've learned to

Read the Fabrics of Fate's Illusion

With some Nietzscheian Zarathustraic fervor,

Getting my Advice from the sound of a pen

on Paper.

When Everything becomes a twisted mystery,

Am I always the detective?

Writing always turns with

Never-Ending Couplets...

Battling with the "Policeman of my mind"

Wondering how he has nothing better to do.

Sadness
 
Fleeing from emotional cloud covered eyes
My spirit travels like rain drops.
I am surrounded by the sadness of thoughts;
How was I ever good enough for you?


My sadness becomes a shield, a holy
Hymn, an eternal heartbeat, total Truth.
God, I miss these tears, this sadness,
This emotional purification- These tears sooth

So much pain, pain for me, Pain from...
These tears sooth like Rain... For me, for them....
Was I ever good enough?
Was I ever good enough for you,

For Thou...

Stretching
Reaching to my core
I find my center
Holy, complete, pure
Returning to enter
The center of my
Soul, as if exiting
My Form to walk
Within my heart.

Gazing, I look to heavens,
"Sky, how far dost Thou extend?"
Like a perfect stretch,
Glorious, Enormous, True...

descent

Been so high High took me to High
Like a God, like a Little god...
 Been so High had to learn how to soar
to descend and avoid
   a fall...
   a fall...

    like a bird, a little b(go)d
           A Perfect descent