Razasoul

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  • Razasoul

    • Sun’s grace,
      Shine on my face.
      For I look at you with black shade in my eyes.

      Fall among the field,
      The grasses lift my body,
      For I can’t stand against my own will anymore.

      Beavers dam,
      Holding back the ocean.
      Let go, because you can’t stop the flow of motion over your body.

      Inside I’m sewn together in one of those untangleable knots. Stick my emotions to my thigh, and my thoughts to my palm.

      Rolling the bike down the hill,
      With two arms out.
      Evade danger with the fear of confrontation.

      Where am I to go wrong?
      When am I to go right?

      Lift upon my tears, to journey to a new old tomorrow.
      What strengthened me before strengthens me now, and belies my weakness.

      I do not fear the bubble.
      I am the bubble.
      And l let myself go.

      Razasoul
      Reply
    • Trace the blinding lights to the fire,
      and realize that the incandescent is opaque.

      Hold the heat that melts your substance, and realize that what you are made of does not go away.

      Follow the small as it becomes the massive, see how disorder repeats itself.

      See how direction is wherever you are looking. Close your eyes and fall.

      Sometimes a choice defines you. Choose to define a choice.

      Razasoul
      Reply
    • Inside there lives a hermit,
      A gatherer, not a giver.

      By taking from the outer realm,
      He survived a week.

      Alone inside the hermit,
      A love pulse did beat.

      When the hermit felt the love pulse beat,
      He no longer needed to eat.

      He would take from his hermit cave and place in outer world.

      It turns out the shinies look better going out then going in.

      Hermit man, with beating heart. Look in upon your time, and find the kind of flavor that lives in inner mind.

      Razasoul
      Reply
    • Deep growings,
      Deep partings.

      The oars of the boat wade the ocean.

      Cycling between tears of greetings,
      and tears of departure.

      One future story told, by the goings and partings of tears.

      Like the air graces the ocean, and the sand braces your feet.
      Two beings coincide, greeting, meeting, but never encompassing the other.

      Razasoul
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