My Personal Pages

Wednesday, September 04, 2013

The Sun's Love


If we can only love each other, the same way that the sun loves the earth.

Always shining light and never asking for anything in return.

I play poker with tarot cards trying to figure out if this is my destiny or if my reflection is bluffing.

If you have a staring contest with a mirror, there will always be a tie ending.

Trying to figure out if you are who you think you are, or just a reflection looking back.

So when you see the mirror, do you see yourself?

Or do you see what others see underneath your flesh?

Do you feel what others see is real?

Or do you deal with how you feel by seeing something else?

They say the truth can set you free.

But if one man’s truth is another man’s lie, that means that love must be the key.

Speak to me! And let the poetry start raining.

Love is all that there is and the rest of life is just a painting.

Which means, this body is just a costume for the soul.

Regardless of race or your religion, we are all part of the same whole.

If we can only love each other, the same way that the sun loves the earth.

So do generations of the past exist in one continuous moment?

Will our tears ever become antiques? Our bones become dust?

Can memories solidify? Can the invisible become tangible?

Do birds sing sad songs about broken wings?

Are we too afraid to live in the gray because it reminds us of our own shadows?

You see, The beginning of this poem doesn’t exist anymore. Let it go.

The end of this poem hasn’t been birthed yet. Release expectations.

They are just invisible thoughts that pull you back and forth.

Analyzing your past and fearing your future.

Right now is all that there is and is all there ever was.

You see the birds are not just birds.

They are the opera singers of nature’s translations.

And the trees are not just trees.

They are God’s fingertips reminiscing of yoga births.

The dirt is not just dirt.

They are the left over ashes of numerous clay sculptures, which survived human emotions.

The leaves are not just leaves.

They are paintbrush fill-ins of beauty going the extra mile.

And the air isn’t just air.

It is the sigh of relief that regardless if things are getting better or worse, at least they’re getting somewhere…

Change is all that nature understands.

As the river of life cleanses the potential of our dreams....

Do trees ever envy the birds that land on them for flying?

Do lakes ever get lonely and have dreams of turning into rivers?

Would flies appreciate the sunset if they knew they were only going to see it once?

Would you appreciate this day, if you knew you were only going to live it once?

Through the trials and tribulations, I gave my inner child birth.

If we can only love each other, the same way that the sun loves the earth. [source]

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Used with permission by Apollo Poetry, ...A poet is a person that poetry wrote into existence…..All in order to manifest itself into reality.

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