WHISPERS FROM GALAXIES BEYOND GALAXIES
Whispers . . . voices that carry the essence
[ind] [ind] and unseen curve of galactic ether
[ind] and wind kissed trees sounds good but doesn't fit with the title
[ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] of future revelations . . .
[ind] meditations that dance swirling without fear,
[ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] dreamlike,
sailing rapidly through spiritual worm holes
toward the clarification of beautiful horizons is beautiful needed?
never imagined.
Oh would that we could breathe this is a common phrase (o that we could)
with highly evolved lungs
past the disturbing doorway
that holds our present state of consciousness
like a manipulated dark mandala,
unable to break free,
unwilling to allow a river of light
to flow outward from the until now
encrusted banks of the heart.
Slowly, slowly . . .
but with a miracle of stars as our guide,
we must begin to hear the ancient secret choir
that has always been there.
This spinning cycle of life and death
will in time dissolve,
becoming only the roots,
the sumptuous nutrition
that manifests in possibilities of a stillness,
a gift that opens the mind
to an unlimited understanding of Creation’s
manifold magnificence.
The universe is an echoing womb i like this line
that has given birth to god held lanterns,
to the ignored visionary hymns
that herald the ignition,
the warmth of a trillion candles
that will eventually draw us in to the radiance
of a divine and generous compassion
that rises in waves of a limitless circular release.
Listen, oh listen . . .
the harp player of the heavens
is restringing his instrument,
his fingers are the elements that give causation
for our sentient existence.
Harken to the godmother and her luxurious lullaby,
she quietly murmurs intonations
from the farthest reaches of the all inclusive.
May our ears in time develop
the amplification necessary to hear
their cryptic and benevolent message.ed lungs
past the disturbing doorway
that holds our present state of consciousness
like a manipulated dark mandala,
unable to break free,
unwilling to allow a river of light
to flow outward from the until now
encrusted banks of the heart.
Slowly, slowly . . .
but with a miracle of stars as our guide,
we must begin to hear the ancient secret choir
that has always been there.
This spinning cycle of life and death
will in time dissolve,
becoming only the roots,
the sumptuous nutrition
that manifests in possibilities of a stillness,
a gift that opens the mind
to an unlimited understanding of Creation’s
manifold magnificence.
The universe is an echoing womb
that has given birth to god held lanterns,
to the ignored visionary hymns
that herald the ignition,
the warmth of a trillion candles
that will eventually draw us in to the radiance
of a divine and generous compassion
that rises in waves of a limitless circular release.
Listen, oh listen . . .
the harp player of the heavens
is restringing his instrument,
his fingers are the elements that give causation
for our sentient existence.
Harken to the godmother and her luxurious lullaby,
she quietly murmurs intonations
from the farthest reaches of the all inclusive.
May our ears in time develop
the amplification necessary to hear
their cryptic and benevolent message.
hopefully you can format the poem as you want now marc
i enjoyed the read marc though i think you need some concrete images
try and use an image to show us, at present you're reciting what you know.
telling us is "the horizon was bright"
using an image, the horizon, exploded eyeballs"
okay it's not great but hope you can see what i mean.
how was it bright
how was it beautiful
how was it great etc,
it shone like a lighthouse
it was beautiful, as a raindrops kiss in summer.
a Mona Lisa smile across the canvass of a universe.
thanks for the read
Whispers . . . voices that carry the essence
[ind] [ind] and unseen curve of galactic ether
[ind] and wind kissed trees sounds good but doesn't fit with the title
[ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] of future revelations . . .
[ind] meditations that dance swirling without fear,
[ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] [ind] dreamlike,
sailing rapidly through spiritual worm holes
toward the clarification of beautiful horizons is beautiful needed?
never imagined.
Oh would that we could breathe this is a common phrase (o that we could)
with highly evolved lungs
past the disturbing doorway
that holds our present state of consciousness
like a manipulated dark mandala,
unable to break free,
unwilling to allow a river of light
to flow outward from the until now
encrusted banks of the heart.
Slowly, slowly . . .
but with a miracle of stars as our guide,
we must begin to hear the ancient secret choir
that has always been there.
This spinning cycle of life and death
will in time dissolve,
becoming only the roots,
the sumptuous nutrition
that manifests in possibilities of a stillness,
a gift that opens the mind
to an unlimited understanding of Creation’s
manifold magnificence.
The universe is an echoing womb i like this line
that has given birth to god held lanterns,
to the ignored visionary hymns
that herald the ignition,
the warmth of a trillion candles
that will eventually draw us in to the radiance
of a divine and generous compassion
that rises in waves of a limitless circular release.
Listen, oh listen . . .
the harp player of the heavens
is restringing his instrument,
his fingers are the elements that give causation
for our sentient existence.
Harken to the godmother and her luxurious lullaby,
she quietly murmurs intonations
from the farthest reaches of the all inclusive.
May our ears in time develop
the amplification necessary to hear
their cryptic and benevolent message.ed lungs
past the disturbing doorway
that holds our present state of consciousness
like a manipulated dark mandala,
unable to break free,
unwilling to allow a river of light
to flow outward from the until now
encrusted banks of the heart.
Slowly, slowly . . .
but with a miracle of stars as our guide,
we must begin to hear the ancient secret choir
that has always been there.
This spinning cycle of life and death
will in time dissolve,
becoming only the roots,
the sumptuous nutrition
that manifests in possibilities of a stillness,
a gift that opens the mind
to an unlimited understanding of Creation’s
manifold magnificence.
The universe is an echoing womb
that has given birth to god held lanterns,
to the ignored visionary hymns
that herald the ignition,
the warmth of a trillion candles
that will eventually draw us in to the radiance
of a divine and generous compassion
that rises in waves of a limitless circular release.
Listen, oh listen . . .
the harp player of the heavens
is restringing his instrument,
his fingers are the elements that give causation
for our sentient existence.
Harken to the godmother and her luxurious lullaby,
she quietly murmurs intonations
from the farthest reaches of the all inclusive.
May our ears in time develop
the amplification necessary to hear
their cryptic and benevolent message.
hopefully you can format the poem as you want now marc
i enjoyed the read marc though i think you need some concrete images
try and use an image to show us, at present you're reciting what you know.
telling us is "the horizon was bright"
using an image, the horizon, exploded eyeballs"
okay it's not great but hope you can see what i mean.
how was it bright
how was it beautiful
how was it great etc,
it shone like a lighthouse
it was beautiful, as a raindrops kiss in summer.
a Mona Lisa smile across the canvass of a universe.
thanks for the read