Mike Frawley
If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.
Richard Bach

Soldiers of a Separate Dream

mikefrawley:

What if our God had no religion
claimed not Christian nor Hindu
neither Buddhist, Muslim or Jew
would we still murder in His Name
what would the poor fanatics do

Self serving sanctimonious fools 
all soldiers of a separate dream
we know the other side is wrong
what if we actually saw the truth
might we then love and get along


"Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace…”
John Lennon - Imagine

Narcissus of the North

bcourchaine:

All summer he sits and watches
That bitch from below
And the wimp from the coast
Grow smiles and green

He’s shunted to the top
And relegated to lay and wait over
Where the white bear and fanged blob flounder

His perfection wasted
He plots his genocide
Knowing the tired leaves can’t fight
Through his gale

His glorious gale

With the hint of flake
And the aura of crystal

As all things do, the rock will tilt
Away from that idiot fireball again

And that’s when he’ll strike
Ripping all obstruction from his path
And reigning supreme
Over the anguished and wailing

Through wool and feathers
Those that can’t flee
Will kneel before his majesty

And his blue steel smile
Will sit on high clarity again

As it should

eternal-reinvention:

I want you to feel
every tooth
that I’ve pulled,
every throat
that I’ve cut,
every eye
that I’ve gouged,
every finger
that I’ve broken,
every mouth
that I’ve slit,
every skull
that I’ve crushed,
and every heart
that I’ve stopped,
because I did it all
for you.

In my dreams

you still remain

as everything to me,

but I’m less than nothing

to anyone,

when I come back to reality.

the monster

verrloren:

when the monster
kisses her lips,
she feels an
electric shock
as it runs its fingers
through her hair

when the monster
gingerly curls its fingers
around her wrist
and shoves a needle
in her arm,
she simply nods
and it smiles,
eyes sparkling

when the monster
rips through layers
of clothing with
vicious teeth,
a hungry tongue
waiting to taste
pink flesh,
she screams

but the monster
frowns,
and continues
to devour her

Exiled Seagull for thislifeofmineneedhope

crusaderoffire:

My wings spread out
And catch the currents
Pushing the speed they can take
To the limit
As I outrun my brethren
The catchers of the sky
I am exiled
No longer fit for fish and sea
But I only wish to be free
To feel the wind
To ride the breeze
And be as fast
As I can be


fforyouu:

In a world

where,
nightmares are no longer
merely
in your dream,

where,
there are seconds
you wish to close your eyes and 

disappear 


where,
the pain has seep
too deep for you to split them out
through your teeth

where,
the ticking of 4.12 a.m.
sung the loudest. 

what do you do?

Born to Fly

thesealivesinme:

I have a secret, that nobody in my professional life knows, and nobody in my private life knows. I can skate. I don’t just mean, “I can skate.” I mean, “I CAN SKATE.”

When I was a boy, I spent almost every weekend, for about ten years, at the rink near my house. I don’t even know how I got into it, but I remember that my parents would drop off my sister and I to skate, and we would skate all day long. My sister was just as good as I was, but in a different way. She chose figure skating. I chose competition speed skating.

What I loved most about skating was the fluid ease of motion, stretching my long legs in the straightaways, married with the thrill of driving my skates hard into each curve and accelerating out with a crossing-over and climbing motion that throttled me out of the curves with power. I could feel the tension in every muscle of my legs, in the swinging of my arms, in the low hunched-over form I pressed into to squeeze out every last millisecond of every curve. It was the most beautiful feeling, it was like flying.

To this day I still have the muscular calves of a speed skater. But I had forgotten all that graceful beauty in skating, lost over these adult years, until now. Today, for the first time since my childhood, I went skating. I almost didn’t know what to expect. I felt a nervous excitement while lacing up my boots as tightly as I could. But every fear fell away when I pushed off for the first time, immediately propelling to a quick pace ahead of the other skaters, without any effort. Within a few laps, it was as if I had returned to my boyhood self again, weaving gracefully in and out of the others, powering through turns, even skating in reverse at full speed a few times.

There are always a few people who are fast at the rink. But if you look at them, they typically overcompensate with power for the areas that they lack grace. They are an awkward jerking and pounding of skates that results in an almost reckless speed. But if you look at olympic skaters, what you see is a sleek, well controlled and rhythmic motion, a patterned swinging of arms, a well rehearsed stretching of limbs, a methodical perfection that dives into every curve and explodes out like a rocket escaping earth’s orbit. Olympians are fluid, elegant, and simply awe inspiring to me.

I like to think that I live my life the way I skate. I try to be graceful in struggles, to stretch my legs in the straightaways, to lean into the challenges, to power out with control and confidence, to edge out the competition a little more with each lap. Eyes sparkling, I can say that I love skating with all my heart, but I’m certainly no Olympian. At best, I’m just a boy who can fly, very fast, and with minimal effort. Remembering that, by putting all those muscles and reflexes back into fluid motion today, felt like I was wining a gold medal.

A cat named poetry

sewthewriter:

For what cannot be
Spoken
Over a comfortable supper
Of soup and warm bread,
Dragged forth
in the light of day
when the truth comes
Calling,
Confessed on the precipice
Of a love’s last
Chance
There is suffering
In verse;
Poetry

An Unselfish Act

As selfish as it may sound to our western sensibilities, the seemingly simple act of loving yourself might well be the sanest and most unselfish thing you could ever do.  Most spiritual traditions consider the concept of selfless or altruistic actions to be very noble and enlightened pursuits, however in one of the first teachings I ever read from Thich Nhat Hanh, he clearly stated that you cannot give away something you don’t possess.  In other words, it’s most likely impossible to be selfless if you don’t first have a good sense of self.  That’s kind of like giving money to the poor when you don’t have any.  Makes sense?   If you’re at all like me and life has been a constant losing battle against selfishness, anger and other negative thoughts and feelings, maybe there is a better way.  Love yourself and you may just find that you’ve discovered the secret to loving everyone and everything.   Why not give it a try?  It may not change the world, but it will most certainly improve yours.      

Lost

mikefrawley:

Perpetually lost somewhere in between
the brilliant flash of a great awakening
the banal mediocrity of living day to day
and the blissful repose of Maya’s Dream

Beneath the stranger my mirror reveals
might there be another trapped within
endlessly questioning who or what I am 
and never quite at home in my own skin

Ever afraid of the wreckage I might find
lying long ago buried in caverns deep
I remain lost to wander unenlightened
yet lack the comfort of those who sleep

Sake With Hattori Hanzo

poeticallyprofound:

War is a prodigal son
The sun never comes up when it should
We’re all just left with dirt and dust
In these woods
Oil these bones, this body but a husk
Nothing to call my own
Watch it all come undone
You can smell the musk
With rust on our tongues
And swords in our guts 
A constant struggle for the good 
Even demons can shed tears
I’ve only been near rivers of blood
Shrouded by a veneer
Of mistrust and a past that never was 
Rub the melancholy from these cuts
Salt in the wounds 
Few ever knew love
When you bathe in sin
You feel the emptiness of your lungs
All the places I’ve ever been
All the graves I have dug
You don’t get to come back from the paths you choose to follow
Knock on the golden door enough and you’ll hear that it is hollow
If I could tell you one thing, it would be to live
Live for the tomorrows
That aren’t promised to us 

As the World Gently Weeps

lzlabs:

Our world weeps
colored strands of tears
starving for hopes misfortune,
thirsting for faith with belief
struggling with the dream
that all hope
is not lost…
 



therosesign:

I touched you.
So soft. A trap
Of luxury. So,
I indulge with
My stolen
Sense of touch
In fantasies
Of your skin
While you’re away
And I’m in your castle,
Numb.

~Aya Al-Hakim©