Category Archives: short poem

The Current

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In this renaissance,

this time of perpetual chaos,

As the currents ripple through us,

we shut down our senses and refuse,

taking chances, anything to light this fuse,

there are a thousand ways to lose,

and it seems that the only way out is through,

to live outside of this loop,

contra to all their half truths,

propagated by those with agendas and set views,

but we decide what we defend,

choices lie with us when we refuse to bend,

our will they cannot circumvent.

no we will not acquiesce,

The dark ones are very real,

no longer a concept so surreal,

on a subtle level it is something you just feel,

we cannot deny,

that they want us to comply,

what they never said,

what they kept hush and thus we were misled

was that the choice was always with us,

take it back, and let the old systems rust,

as led transforms to gold

and the copper that we were sold,

is no longer bought,

let it be known,

we now have something more

from the lows of this plane we will once again soar,

up, higher, flying above the mundane we roar,

nothing can stop the change,

it is too late,

i will not just sit and wait,

for that thing we call fate,

rise and shine there is nothing here left to defend,

turns out it was just the beginning and not the end,

Faatima

 

 

 

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Thrown away the key

Image result for fantasy art

On the edge of atrophy,

rampant revolution with the sea breeze,

brewing in the air,

the mist, beware.

We no longer have a care,

for the now frozen lakes far off in another galaxy,

the little people are free

weeds surround the beautiful sweet flowers that breathe,

life into the ether as between the lines we read,

grow, uproot, resist, feed,

through perpetual death and rebirth on the shores of grand rising we bleed,

transformative, awakening from the haze,

fires blaze,

as seasons change

earthy, watery an elemental stage,

passage through the malaise,

wounds cut open and the memories fade,

escape,

it’s too late and we can no longer wait,

sitting ducks and enslaved,

You may have thrown away the key,

but this you did not foresee.

Faatima

x

 

Circle

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Drew my circle above and around me,

Testing all that tries to plant a seed,

maybe of doubt,

to just let go and allow,

In all truth I dont want any more,

everything that once was has dissolved on the shores,

melted into the sand, the waters have washed away and worn

I can now see the cycles of time and folklore,

We have waded through the nettles,

the process begins with the base metal

once the dust has finally settled,

out of time and out of place,

clocks ticking, no more attempts at trying to save face.

Going at pace,

exiting out of their rat race,

In this shadow world,

We observe,

Go back within to retrieve all that was lost,

reclaimed what is ours and pay the cost,

for apathy and denial, beyond each and every trial,

sugar coated and adorned,

still a new moment is born,

from ashes we rise forth,

we are the roses that bloomed yet are protected by thorns,

Faatima

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forest through the trees

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Schism, the devourment,

Clarity of mind beyond the firmament,

the edge of existing,

beyond resisting

struck between two places,

a world found between spaces,

another plane of being,

way of seeing,

somehow freeing,

confines release,

as we retrieve,

fact from fiction,

storybook tales allegorical, in relation,

to these codes unlocked,

practiced daily as sure as the clock,

ticks so we can perceive,

the forest through the trees.

Faatima

Xx

 

 

 

The only way out

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Finding magick in the mundane,

Leaving a trail,

Depression, grey skies, rain,

on grassy terrains,

painting pictures,

art, inspired by features,

subtle little details,

Woven through moments we entail,

When even words fail,

thoughts escape us,

lust for life, feelings and climbing up,

the ladder to what’s above,

hidden in plain view,

within the red and blue,

poles, the burning heat and icy dew,

So we learnt and grew,

I guess it’s really true

the only way out is through,

Love,

Faatima

X

Wild Winters,

Image result for art winter

Sleeping away sickness,

as songs stream through wild winters,

Composed by all these singers,

leaving behind a trail of fingers,

atop the grand piano

white, orange, gold,

don’t believe everything that you’re told.

the stream flows both ways,

water murky and grey, like a painting of a rainy day,

and as ships pass through the shore,

just like that the calm is restored.

Faatima