Full Moon Special


Soul Urges


The beginning of the end. The beginning of the end. The end and the beginning in equilibrium, untamed, tangible, undeniable, present.

Beloved Pachamama

Thy medicina

I have always wondered what it will feel like to write a poem about heart ache and bewilderment of Love as I Love, Love so much

BWild Flower Child

Imagine awakening to a bed full of blood as you wake up in a daze, within your breath the words stop, fizzled, as the eyes adjust to the bright lights and stares from a stranger in a white suit, telling you, you’re okay, as if feeling like you’ve wet yourself on an empty stomach and the piece of your soul now floating above, is okay.

Now I understand what forever really means as the residue of footsteps are imprinted upon my soul, a love that will never be forgotten and always felt like admiring a candle, the scent of its luscious quintessence, and hypnotising silhouette of a flame, once touched produces pain and somewhat excitement.

Yes I am speaking of love and pain!

Every song felt through the melancholic symphony vibrating from the strings of thy heart being played by the orchestra whom does not wish to have the opera singer belching a love song .

Yet she sings the sweetest tones silently, connecting to your frequency, releasing the tension held in your shoulders, swallowing the lump in your throat, releasing breath held now exhaled through the core of one’s feet vibrating upon the Earth, grounding, synergy.

Like a child staring into your eyes, screaming from the pain of their knees grinding against the concrete floor, as blood pours down their leg, like liquid gold, seeping through the cracks, to piece together the parts of the soul wounded by love. The love, I love so much yet cannot grasp the words of the spell.

Like a speck passing by your face whilst floating through the wind, seen, yet unknown, close enough to touch, far enough to want, though not desired by most, so one ponders.

Like catching the sadness within the eyes of a homeless person sitting on a cardboard box in the busy streets, bodies passing by ignoring their existence, though many have actually noticed, they just gaze through their peripheral vision pretending not to see, due their uncomfortability, desensitised or lack of compassion, yet observing the homeless, cold and hungry, the feeling within their stomachs ranching from the pain of malnourished systems.


Let me just get this phone call

How sad is it that I will rather break my own heart before someone else and guess what, I think I listened to intuition and she was right

Vessels are open to give receive

I am buoyant

I am the stardust you blow away, excited to see the sparkle and glow as I disappear

She whistles

This little light of mine I’m gonna let shine




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