Throw the thoughts

Throw the thoughts beyond
the rim of mind, let nothing
dribble back along its edge,
for in dismissal we can make

our way, refusing to be held
to broken pledge. In life we
have the option to believe,
or not, as we would choose

or wish to be, and in that
act of independent thought,
we weave the ladder which
can then slow draw, us to

the top, of this engulfing
pit, whose promise has
been written truly deep, by
others who would tell us

who we are and what we
are allowed to be, tight fit;
for only in our stitch and
trim of self, will we find

truth, and shape to haul
beyond this place, in full
redeeming of our natural
cause; lie naked at the top

in sweating flesh, where
mind and soul embrace
in deepest love. So does
the pit still beckon, even

as we rest above. For
always is that drop into
the depths, beside us, in
a breathless wait of time-

such is the way of life and
surely death, and ever was
from truly ancient rhymes:
forgotten they still sigh.

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The walls confine collected,
in times of troubled days,
revealing lines defective,
within my mind and ways.

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Did I know, in that
first moment, it
would not last, and
that each beat of
the dream, was
being counted by
the Fates, in sure
steady diminishing
of what was? How
can anyone know
what the future
holds, or if, the
deep being of this
Now will endure?
It is in the green
fields of the wild
unknown, that we
lose ourselves, as
we must on this
pure, painful, and
irrevocably human
voyage of becoming.
To know is to lose
the ways of dreams
and hope, and to tie
ourselves to some
thing which may
be no more than a
sojourn on the path
of our lives. That
which makes our
hearts beat sure
and steady, cannot
be known, for then
time stops……. and
the gift we have is
in collecting those
stopped moments.

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The moment called,
convincing, with
resolute disdain, of
shattered hopes and
fantasies, where no
thing did remain.
And so the hours
quiet, the minutes
in tight step, as days
disdjointed cowered;
with sanity bereft.
The moment called,
forgiving, with no
thing to be read, and
yet the face of death
revealed, so much was
left unsaid; remote
and falling quickly,
through lost and
torrid times, the step
was taken slowly,
toward new life,
new mind. As if
within the calling,
all tears were left
behind, with little
to remember; and
so is fate enshrined.

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Consuming and devouring,
the fire chews through the
land, and belches black
envelopings; allows no

life to stand. For in the
raging moments, where
blazing roars to life, we
are just puny humans, in

Nature’s burning hands.
As awe does rise with
courage, they hold the
flimsy line, defending

and preparing, to flee
in given time. But in
those very moments
Australians we stand,
and face the truth of

fire, as it transforms
the land; in greedy
dance eternal, it has
brought what we see,

and made us all its
servants; this land of
fire and dreams. Where
smoke is but a garment

some seasons always
wear, and aeons of
this story, still written
deep, declare, that

in the great South
Land, the god of fire
bestows, both misery
and blessing, on all
who call it home.

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The world stirs, breathes

and moves in its own way,

in measured moments of

unexpected being and

becoming, where fear

and hope walk side by

side, and sometimes

share a smile of new

understanding; for they

were forged in the same

fire, and honed by the

same hammer, beaten

through the molten

days, until they took

shape and form in

this strange, beautiful

and mysterious cosmos;

where life dances to

its own unique tune-

perfect in its own way,

despite the tangled

flaws, of brokenness,

and its fraying dreams,

and bright, worn edges.

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Life is small, tiny in the truth of itself,
and yet, the sound it makes, eternal
in that echo of being, resounding, and
bouncing off the hollow walls of time

is enormous, and we stand, listen
and hold to awe, reflecting that so
much can come, from so little, and
that even in the smallest things is

something great, with a voice which
calls throughout the corridors of ages
and demands we listen; holds us to
account in this great, cosmic play.

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