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Literature Text
the world unseen by eyes
is the source where our world
is patterned and derived.
The spirit, speaking, swirled
Love-born light held its breath
And matter was revealed.
thus from the cosmic creche
the star's precursor seeped;
hydrogen spanned the depths.
Forth from the depths there leaped
Out of a leafing dark
Compaction that long slept.
gravity fusion sparked,
lighting the fledgling suns;
the path to life embarked.
Now, beasts, fresh-sprung buds, men, feathers, fins
Each day tumble new from dawn's gold hands.
is the source where our world
is patterned and derived.
The spirit, speaking, swirled
Love-born light held its breath
And matter was revealed.
thus from the cosmic creche
the star's precursor seeped;
hydrogen spanned the depths.
Forth from the depths there leaped
Out of a leafing dark
Compaction that long slept.
gravity fusion sparked,
lighting the fledgling suns;
the path to life embarked.
Now, beasts, fresh-sprung buds, men, feathers, fins
Each day tumble new from dawn's gold hands.
![[OPEN] AI adoptable character - 1998](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/b54a7957-cf6d-4b39-b7fb-06a385ce4de8/dg2kx2j-8f0ce9d7-7f24-4076-b535-f05529325f2b.png/v1/fill/w_332,h_250,q_70,strp/_open__ai_adoptable_character___1998_by_ai_ursa_dg2kx2j-250t.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.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.kEvSlRf7bLHZ7_vqJIbGGB1zLAKLD6Kf-HHqA4J0Pxs)
Literature
For Nice.
A strong Oak stands alone amid the hedgerow. Watching over this season's final yield of wheat. The last stage of the crop rotation. No more than a hardy grass, yet sufficient sustenance no less, for those that tend to the field. I note a ring of scarlet poppies circling the wheat. A blood-stain border, soaking the outer edges of the field. Speckled also, in amongst the crop, in that same sporadic pattern seen in blood splatter. A metaphor for the sacrifices made in ensuring that the village stays fed perhaps? Or perhaps, an aesthetic. Planted by the farm hand with little to no particular reasoning, other than just, well, for nice. The dog grows impatient, pulling at his lead as though to say that sometimes things just are, that I ought not to ponder on them for too long, lest I rob them of their inherent beauty. I scratch him behind the ears in agreeance. "good boy, lets get you home".
Literature
reflective
One minute you will stand watching prior moments drift past your fingertips on kite strings. You will think, I could not have known such things would fly away. You will think, I was happier tied to such fragments of time. You will think, My heart sang for lack of knowledge. My heart leapt for ignorance. Witness now--the mouth of a tunnel, think then on the other end. Close your eyes and fall backward, into the shoes of former selves, envying their blindness to this present. Linger. Then lean back into reality-- your future shouldn't need to wander forward alone.
Literature
the book
It felt like the book wouldn't let me rest, like it wanted to tell me more, like he wanted to tell me more. Wherever I went, I'd see his eyes following me - in the corridor, outside the window. But he didn't mean to haunt me. He was just a desperate soul, wanting to be understood, every fine detail of his story should be visualized, analyzed, then crystallized, like it meant something after all. The more I let myself fall into this, the harder it was to stop. Already now I felt our spines tenderly woven together, a fragment of someone else in me, that would stare at me through my own eyes in the mirror.
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A poem on cosmic origins written in partnership with =deinktvis (it's also posted in his gallery here: deinktvis.deviantart.com/art/g… ). We alternated stanzas (the verses in italics are his).
The form is a diciotto (deinktvis has written a tutorial on it here: deinktvis.deviantart.com/art/d… )
Enjoy!
P. S. The concluding couplet is the result of this piece of Dylan Thomas ricocheting around my insides: www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFbyq2cZHgE
Peace.
The form is a diciotto (deinktvis has written a tutorial on it here: deinktvis.deviantart.com/art/d… )
Enjoy!
P. S. The concluding couplet is the result of this piece of Dylan Thomas ricocheting around my insides: www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFbyq2cZHgE
Peace.
© 2013 - 2024 WinteroftheSoul
Comments9
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'we newly recognize quantum cosmic awareness'
loving the subject matter [no pun intended]
and the evolved [and evolving] integrated intelligence
which springs from its colossal depth
we now purposely [supposedly] evolve ourselves
we must love our human [homo-sapiens-sapiens]
selves as a species if we are to further succeed
many of us hate our sinful selves and seek a biblical ending
they are the entities who [faithfully] have not evolved in awareness
where we are entities who [in realism] continue the evolution
Who here actually seems to represent their artificial Satan?
We... or Their Unaware Selves?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
[I tend to continue the thought of a newly read poem]
[You may note, Daniel, that I care not for particular poetic form
having focused only on the intended message - basically my agenda]
pip
loving the subject matter [no pun intended]
and the evolved [and evolving] integrated intelligence
which springs from its colossal depth
we now purposely [supposedly] evolve ourselves
we must love our human [homo-sapiens-sapiens]
selves as a species if we are to further succeed
many of us hate our sinful selves and seek a biblical ending
they are the entities who [faithfully] have not evolved in awareness
where we are entities who [in realism] continue the evolution
Who here actually seems to represent their artificial Satan?
We... or Their Unaware Selves?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
[I tend to continue the thought of a newly read poem]
[You may note, Daniel, that I care not for particular poetic form
having focused only on the intended message - basically my agenda]
pip