The Devil

the-devil

You are the devil;
the one who buys souls daily.
The media is your favourite demon,
feeding your every thirst for blood.
You are the mind-control.

To climb ladders of prestige,
people lose their souls to you.
Each one loses their sense of self,
renewing their sacrifice to you,
to be kept in the front pages.

You are a little less than inhumane.
Spirits and smiles die,
wells of passion run dry,
bodies become breathing shells,
when you make persons un-human.

You take the prize that has to be paid,
you make flesh your bread,
tears and sweat, your wine.
You are the media’s precious demon,
feeding its every thirst for blood.

You are the devil;
you are the mind-control.
Bodies become breathing shells,
people lose their souls to you,
to be kept in the front pages.

Between Worlds

SLEEP BY RENAT RAMAZANOV

‘Sleep’ by Renat Ramazanov

Do you know what it means,
do you know how it feels,
to be one of the living
at a time when you are dead?

To not be of that world,
the one you left behind,
or be fully in that one,
the one that is ahead.

You are able to move
but you can barely walk.
You are able to say words
but you can barely talk.
You are very sensitive
but you can barely sense.
You remember how to remember
but you can barely think.

You are able to hear
but you very barely know.
It’s hard for you to understand,
and so painfully so.
You are able to look
but you can barely see.
You’re hanging in midair;
you don’t have any wings.

To not be able to rewind
and start all over again,
or be able to move on,
and fly far far away.

Do you know what it means
when everything means nothing?
Do you know how it feels
when you cannot feel?

Fog

Earth Magic Oracle Card

Fog is simply a low cloud, a blanket of water crystals that has not gained the density of raindrops. The thicker it is, the more it shrouds in it’s damp, billowy arms. It can be so thick that it makes it nearly impossible to see directly in front of us. During those times, silence makes its own sound as we pause and allow ourselves to be enveloped in this shroud of impenetrable density. We may even feel as if we can do nothing but be still and await what is to be revealed.
Yet even within the thickest fog, we can be assured that it will eventually turn off as the sun’s rays infiltrate the veil. Once they do so, we can anticipate how the light and warmth will bring us welcome relief from the cold. As the sun continues to disperse the fog, our surroundings become illuminated, and we have the opportunity to continue onward.
You are enmeshed in confusion and uncertainty, and are unsure if it will ever clear up. This is not the best time to make decisions, particularly any major ones. Know that this foggy veil will eventually dissolve. Although there may be ways you are unconsciously contributing to this state, the greater truth is that this is simply a cycle you are moving through, and like all things, this too shall pass.
Allow yourself to feel confused – in fact, decide to be confused. No matter what attempts you make right now to make things happen or move in any specific direction out of impatience or frustration, you risk only creating more confusion and uncertainty. So, be still and patient. Wait for that first glimmer of awareness to life the veil so that you can see the choices before you more clearly and can then choose to align yourself with the will of Spirit.
– Stephen D Farmer

The Killer Queen

Queen

Our lives have drastically changed, 
now that La Corona has been enthroned.
Fearsome, terrible, and sleek,
waving as she casts her deadly spell,
all wail her royal highness, the queen of hell.

Some claim she pities children,
only harming a handful so far,
and that she is the opposite of colour-blind,
first attacking bodies with a lighter hue,
with plans to make those with darker ones blue.

La Manifique engages in a coquettish March,
striding as she takes many breaths away.

Whenever she pays her subjects royal visits,
she lights feverish fires inside them,
and in her presence, all lung-curses stem.

She makes prison cells of bodies and homes,
exciting and depressing, nothing in-between,
and in our daily bid to succeed her throne,
we pray that God takes the queen
and approves our desperate win.

Falling in Love is Masochistic

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Painted by John Park

I will never understand,
for as long as I live,
why people crave so hard,
why people ache so bad,
to fall in love.

I know that falling is nice,
falling is like flying,
and flying is nice,
but when the clock strikes 12,
one will have to pay the price.

Landing is tough,
landing is rough,
there are cuts on the face and neck,
and blood on the thighs and head.
The heart is broken into several pieces,
and air is taken out of the lungs.
The knees lose life and strength,
and the sides become so badly bent.

I hope they learn a lesson or two.
I stand by the scene and I watch,
hoping they’ll never, ever return,
but people climb on love’s hill again,
with smiles on their lips
and laughter in their mouths,
wobbling with a partner in hand,
to fall into that dark pit once more,
to die again.

Fighting Our Demons

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We start to fight our demons
when we stop fighting,
suppressing our emotions,
keeping our hurts in.
When we accept transformation,
and release our hearts for mending,
roll with the wheel of fortune,
and open our souls for healing.
When we accept the very truth that
each end is a new begining.

Healing Bound

African Dancer- Ayodeji Ayeola

“African Dancer” by Ayodeji Ayeola

The foot feels the foot
when the foot feels the ground.
Reality sets in;
the pain is profound.
Foot one before foot two
and a quickly twirl around.
Step one and then step two;
healing bound.

Chiron-ke

Yusuf Grillo

I want love,
I ask for love,
but when Mother Earth offers it to me,
I shake my head from side to side.

Think of me as a child;
think of me as a pregnant woman.

I am in pain;
I am pregnant.
I bear and carry my hurt
like an unborn child
in my heart’s womb.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
can deliver me from my self,
but I don’t know how to,

or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t.  

I’m a pregnant midwife
who delivers people’s pain-children
but walks around with her own
still-born still in her.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
deliver me from my self,
but I don’t know how to,

or is it that I don’t want to?

Can I?

Think of me as a child;
think of me as a pregnant woman.
I’d prefer it if you do

not think of me at all. 

Stages of Life

Arodan Image

Things do not end
because they weren’t meant to be,
but because they were.
Predestined,
planned,
timed,
like a stage play,
to be seen,
to be experienced,
to be felt,
to be learnt from.

As soon as the play is done,
and the end begins,
actors should take front-row seats
and watch their own work-
what they could have done better,
what they should do and not do
in the next play,
as opposed to regretting
that they took part in it
in the first place,
as awkward as it may seem,
as much as it may hurt.

Love: Wings and Legs

Collete Miller.png

Painted by Collete Miller

Love gives you wings, 
but when the wings are abruptly taken away, 
your legs are yanked off too.

Love, after it is withdrawn,
leaves you somewhat paralyzed.

So,
first,
you have to grow a new pair of legs-
the process hurts like death. 

Then you develop an irrational fear of wings,
which is funny,
but also sad.

Bitter-Sweet

How can a yang be a yin?
How?
How can a thing that ought to heal, hurt?
How can a thing that ought to help you walk,
and better still,
give you wings,
keep you in chains,
and make you weak?
How?
How can a thing that ought to give you life
take your breath?
How can a feeling
be the opposite of itself,
when unrequited?
A thing so sweet and tender,
like a newborn baby,
but strong enough
to put you in a chokehold
when you least expect it?

Isn’t love delicate?
Isn’t love dangerous?