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Steve Page Apr 5
As a kid I was an accomplished storyteller
an evader of consequence.
As an adult it was a little similar,

but lately, I’ve found more story with truth
intertwined with unexpected twists,
and immersive but unfinished narratives,

which gave space for imagination,
for permission for grace to flower
in familiar but unexpected colour.

And sweet fragrance.

I have always been a storyteller.
A teller of my stories.
And they’re unfinished,

with more fragrance to come.
Bea Rae Mar 31
In another life

The stars align and shine

Brightly for our love
Jeremy Betts Mar 27
Life is tricky, gets sticky quickly
I'd love my day to day to be monotony heavy
This smile is a forgery
...mostly
My demons are imaginary
...mostly
Every foot placed in front of the other is scary
I've been doing it for 40 plus years, I'll figure it out eventually
Look how easily I lie to me
Do I know anything wholeheartedly?
Same sh*t different day,
And honestly,
I'd welcome blasé openly
Hopefully
I get the opportunity

©2024
uv Mar 25
"I have a hundred photos lined up to be posted.
I edit them, I think about them, and I let them be.
I let them be in my gallery for the right time.

And the right time never comes.

Days become months, and months at times turn into years.
But the right time never comes.

I don't know why!

But it is alright!

It is alright because I am not in a race, nor am I in a hurry to tell my story.
I don't mind waiting at the stop like this bus.
I don't mind being forgotten about
Or just not talked about for days.

But I, in my own way, after making those stops, I will carve my road ahead.
Uncover the true beauty of my story
In the most unusual way.
Just like how sunlight lights up a simple road and makes patterns with the help of shadows.

Shadows have their own ways.
Shadows glorify those pretty rays.
P.S: Thank you for following me through the years.
And sticking by even when I just disappear.
Hunter Mar 16
Enchantment - In the vast gardens of the great castle, under the soft glow of the summer moon, lived a servant girl named Elara. She moved through the castle corridors with grace and humility, her heart filled with dreams beyond her station. And it was on one magical summer night that her destiny intertwined with that of a handsome young prince.

Prince Alden, with his striking features and kind demeanor, often sought refuge in the castle gardens, away from the pressures of royal life. One evening, as he wandered among the fragrant blooms and winding pathways, he caught sight of Elara, tending to the flowers with gentle hands.

Enthralled by her beauty and grace, Alden approached her, his heart racing with a newfound excitement. As they exchanged shy smiles and idle conversation, they found themselves drawn together by an invisible thread, their souls recognizing a kindred spirit in each other.

Under the silver light of the moon, they strolled through the gardens, their laughter mingling with the sweet melody of nightingales. With every whispered word and stolen glance, their connection deepened, forging a bond that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

As the night wore on, they found themselves alone in a secluded alcove, surrounded by the fragrance of roses and the soft rustle of leaves. There, bathed in the moonlight, they shared their hopes, their fears, and their deepest desires, each word a testament to the growing love between them.

In that enchanted moment, Elara and Alden knew that they were meant to be together, their hearts entwined in a love that defied all odds. And as they embraced beneath the starry sky, they vowed to defy convention and follow their hearts, no matter the consequences.

From that night onward, Elara and Alden's love blossomed like the flowers in the castle gardens, filling their days with joy and their nights with passion. And though their path was fraught with challenges and obstacles, they faced them together, their love shining as bright as the summer moon that had brought them together.   https://youtu.be/mXbIF9eoLZ4
Published as Music at https://www.youtube.com/@OrionsPiano
Ken Pepiton Mar 2
Prove the wise serpent harmless as the dove.

Put on the whole armor metaphor, contain yourself,

dare let a spirit test if I can say
- there did you hear it…

this is true
the three essential mere words, tied to the story you're in,

there was a beginning, as with any bubble form, once
upon a certain time, as certainty grew worse,

madness became standard anger modality, berserkers
were bred, as these days the grand wedoms breed
heroic champion character development programs,

elite forces,
chosen warriors,

each a volunteer, taken the step, learnt the salute,
comprehended the safety in the chain of command,
- es no mi culpa
be wise as those who prayed
to a manifested golden calf,
be so wise as those who, to this day, say to the vicars,

to you alone, let Jah speak, for we are totally unworthy,

thus it  is written, read the preacher to me, no escape
with honor, but on the battlefield,

so okay, everyday people, common folk, simple art,
some time spent,
invested, using investigatory story skilled honed,
on audio only Perry Mason, take the stand,

I need not remind you, you remain under oaths,
and woe to the man who does not believe,

faith alone be the evidence
of hoped for things occuring as wished,

tool for the task, a maker ever wishes, such
such tools as these we use to read, ready
we become some sorted thing, filtered

line by line, sieved as fine ground flour, dust

thou art, and unto dust, eh
the cinematic depiction of ancient burial sanctuary.

Sanctimonious display, displayed artfully and often,
always show the coffin, or the urn, or the ashes

on the wind,
it all depends on wind working,

otherwise, the stench is enough to make
life under the sun and moon and stars, impossible,

here. Where self evidence appears, with an ancient
silly wise wombed man's grin,

answered now with slight smile level reassurance.

Real life is done on a continuing basis.

As an ancient adage says, the unexamined life
is worthless, not worth the cost of living.
Becoming a form of information, destined to exist upon a time, once.
Remember your true calling /
As the susurrant breeze wafts your epidermis /
And the platinum moon glistens /
Atop the clouded expanse of The Cimmerian Skies. /

Know The Transcendental One walks with you /
Forces unseen fight for thee, /
You are enclaved within the omnipresent mist, /
Of Jehovah God, The Most High. /

"But you are 'a chosen race, a royal priesthood, /
A holy nation, a people for special possession, /
That you should declare abroad the excellencies of the One who called you /
Out of darkness into his wonderful light.'" —1st Peter 2: 9 (NWTSE) /

Equip yourselves for your pilgrimage /
Doven divine Aether, /
For strength, wisdom, justice, love, /
Courage, beauty, & indefatigability. /

Your journey is yours & yours alone, /
Walk through the rain unafraid, /
Believe in The Light when Stygian Shadows fall, /
Cleave to The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love as you effloresce in The Light of The Sun. /

Your testimony is power, /
Your story is a shockwave pulsar through The Ages; /
Therefore, use your promenade down the experiential cascade /
To prepare your souls for eternity. /

(—Se' lah)
TS Feb 23
11.29.23 I'll start the story and then never finish it because there will always be more to write. There will always be more to our story. Or so I hope.




2.2.24 I started the story and never finished because missing you cuts too deep to write of our missed adventures. There are no more words left to our story.




Because it's not our story anymore.




-t.s.
Larry dillon Feb 21
Force feeding on two doses of clozapine.
Doc reclines in his chair;
I am restrained in mine.

"I am feeling fine, now,
feeling fine."

"It is time."
Doc persists," admit it for them...
you know what you did;
you know it was all real."

A film reel rewinds inside somewhere
adjacent to my cerebellum;
Front row seats to my favorite show-
I know not what to tell him?

It was all what I dreamt up on one of my.
Usual Sundays.
Savoring what lovely sensations-
'some' would insinuate are a sin.
It was me this time playing doctor,
operating on my imaginary friend.

This one pretends she does not like the licking
of a blade against her skin.
And when I decide to cut too deep
her safe word is always 'grin.'  

But Doc: that was just how we liked to play?
She had been longing for a violent death:
            I dreamt her up that way.

...

Before I could say what fun I had with the others.., teary-eyed on the other side of reinforced glass, resides my many made-up friend's mothers...

(Was it those two pills from before?)
In my final minutes ..
I have regained lucidity.
On death row for defiling those things
I thought only I could see.
A needle in my arm:
my death will serve as an apology.

...

I writhe, and before I black out, the lithe figure
of an old imaginary friend.. but if you WERE actually real..

A decade ago- I remember a incorporeal, corrupted, entity I allowed to fill my soul.

In place of the hole where apathy used to be.
The yearning for suicide was all mine;
Homicide was your wish-you resided within.
Broke my will and reality down day by day
by simply posing as my only friend.
Control/Desire imprisoned me.

Rewired my mind.
breaking me down into insanity.
but I am fighting now:
Thrashing with all the life left still inside of me.

She grins as I go.

musing to herself.
         She takes me below.

" I had high hopes for this plaything...
  my next toy is actually EAGER to ****. "


...For someone who wanted to be dead,
you had such a hard time keeping still.

-
A story of how the friendship between a man and his imaginary friend was simply that: a 'friend' imagined.

T/w suicide, ******, mental health
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