If I would say that I am okey I would be lying Its fine to die. It's not always easy and we are sometimes pulled into what can feel like a raging battle, but ultimately the end result is our destiny. We now rule the fate of our days. The great dialectic remains between fate and free will. How you define life determines your destiny. Hello, it has been a while since you acknowledged me.
It's only normal To feel excitement At their strained Heavy Breathing Isnt it almost like a melody The raspy struggles? A true blessing it is for me to compose with such a kindhearted and talented poet as my dear friend most assuredly is. Sometimes the picture is so clear it jumps right off of the page. Was my life a waste in this impossible world? There is so much ahead. Through drifted powdered paths my healing does begin rhythm of my brisk breath is like a cleansing hymn. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Its all I have left. People say that our Destiny is open, but our Fate is sealed.
Lost in color confusion struggling for solid understanding when all is hues. I implore everyone to read and explain it if necessary. I seethe within what echoes disdain for all things wanting, because I can't seem to keep what's there to begin with The desire to purge prior prose and start from scratch beseeches my mind to scrawl what dire nuance calls my name, but I don't look it in the eyes It's my demon; my voice that resonates deep within; the call of all things mired by fate-less whispers of what's more, or right But I know, it can't be how I desire. But I guess they must be right So i'll continue to read and write. A loaded gun behind the perfect shot, infiltrate my mind with memories I forgot. Then I remembered the insight, the quality and beauty of Susan's previous collaboration with me - our sonnet duet and that sealed the deal. For years I was useless.
It reminds me to always be my best no matter what. My special thanks go to Robert for inviting me to join this three-way collaboration of a soul-searching poem combining three aspects which I love about nature: winter, snow and the woods. William Ernest Henley 1849-1903 , an English Poet, had one of his legs amputated at the age of 17. Fate — The taste in your mouth. Serendipity was a sign, You're worth the try.
We are the master of our destiny. To play around one's breathe To grip something tightly An innocent gesture Passion so involved It's just a spur of emotions A moment of breathlessness What's wrong with cutting off some air? Life is a box of chocolates, Forrest. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak. The unwilling, Destiny drags them. Notice the resistence of the gasping Clench your fingers Weigh them down Feel the life leave their lips And the pressure leave their lungs Let them choke. We all have a destiny. The path to your destiny is uniquely yours.
I've crafted my story from scratch as rough as it seems. Now I stay in my own yard. One heart, Two hearts, One beat. Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. My child, you were not searching for the right answers. Or did my life already begin to end, Like my father who has pathetically killed himself A Umi who is left without any friend Is worth nothing at all, maybe this is the right time, to take my fall I cant take this anymore, not the blood I bled, My vision begins to slowly turn red Is this what is called fate? But greater spirits this balance can reverse And make the soul the artist of its fate.
Pray thee, this sad, dark world sees thy ink-bright lights, Begs thy kind soul return to poetic roots! When all hope seem to have failed, you were there keeping me alive. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. We can determine between the two. Those not killed have been left with horrific injuries, and many will have had the future they dreamed of snuffed out in a matter of seconds. Once you know yourself and take action to realize your dreams, you can unlock the doors of your own potential. And in the bleeding sky I saw, scars I've encountered once before. First mother then father now even my grandpa Have all disappeared.
My finger was cut and I saw my blood dripping into a pool I knew my blood was real, no more a mystery I was warned, told to be careful, but how was I to know Blood was just a word painted red in my head I did not believe the truth I could not see But now I know and I know seeing is not believing Seeing imparted knowledge of the red liquid flowing within me My flesh was opened by a lightning bolt one bright and sunny day But only one tiny drop of red blood seeped out Still there was a pool of light gathering beside my wound As the thunder. Some people are not aware it's their choice to create their own destiny while others set personal goals and take responsibility for the direction of their lives. My heart and my mind are as real as the earth and the sea. Little bird, little bird, wherefore art thou? J Grén Copyright © Year Posted 2018 Destiny Poem Sir Poet, Hold True To Thy Gifts Long Given Sir poet, why hast thy broken thy true pen? You put your arms above your head, oh - 'twas a sinuous view Of all your harms, my newlywed, as the world twirled anew, While sand devils and waterspouts spun mad in insane art, I felt myself vaporize as I was swiftly pulled apart. Oh yes, I am the master of my fate.