If it gets much keener, I will sync into the brilliance of heart thought, layered in pink folds of tender softness. My crimes of glory, of glee, of gladness are consumed inside the blanket, its softness upon my lap. With Snow White rap, I cover myself in, with the wind. In the snow, at night, when I’m playing, I am praying; when I’m lying, soft peaks are rising in the stillness of almost sleep. I feel the arms of the hearts of my loved ones inside this lamb-like skin, this fleece cap of free-flowing thought. I am the wind as it whispers through the leaves. So please these leaves; the river steals them but to us they cleave. They do not burn, they do not gather. They are trod upon with snow and rain and the feet of man, but they always exist in the soil. Let’s bring them back to life, for in the blooms they shall not spoil.



Lovely, Richard. :D

Originally posted on Richard Ankers:

I saw it in the sweep of her swanlike neck,

An elegance born of nature.

Her persuasion was to kindness

Something I’d almost forgotten about.

Her tendency to smile, whilst others grimaced,

Endeared her still further: she was perfect.

She wore white more often than not, a coat of softest down.

Whenever the wind blew, I expected her wings to unravel,

Her form to take flight beneath the cold winter skies.

I am not ashamed to say, I was enraptured by her.

But, like the birds she resembled, she departed,

Migrated across the ocean and left me behind.

I wait still stood atop the crumbling cliff tops.

I will always wait for her, my darling swan.

(Image courtesy of LunaSombria on deviantart.com)

View original


The Weak are those

who do not tow the party line

but step across it

one foot at a time

to get to know the evil other

so as to meet within themselves

their own evil which is worse

than that of their brother

For we are the chiefest of sinners, we might say

and so very loved, while feeling so depraved

He set us on a hilltop

and, perhaps,

He honors the trying resilient

more than complacent safety that stays and says

we’re undoubtedly your best;

It’s most obvious,

Oh Father,

as we’ve understood you in the past

It’s not You, Father, who have changed

into a more Christ-like behavior

It’s our understanding that we can grow in our weakness

Or stay eating the meat

of a static experience;

that from before the epiphany of your truest, loveliest light,

in this ephemeral life,

gave us eyes to seek expansive meaning

within your illuminating

merciful insight


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