Nothing else matters. The memories seep through as though our lives are the trees of dreams, and our fears and aspirations root in reality. To live in the past is folly, our stage is set for the limelight, we must only take the chains of burden off our backs to enjoy in our fanfare.
No more wayward shadows dampening our views. No more hypocrisy and degradation causing our veins to darken with contempt. We are the orchestrators of imagination. We are the champions of the nomadic spirit, moving beyond our bodies and traveling through fantasy. Our everyday world is but an illusion, you need only open your minds to see true beauty.
Be it in words or in images, song or rhythm, our creativity is apparent by the scope of our canvas. Our souls are the paintbrush, our life experiences are our medium. There is no need to be listless in our pursuit of the unimaginable, there is truly nothing out of our reach if we extend our hands to the world and share of ourselves.
Pain is no more overwhelming than our need to expand. The precipice of space and creation is within our grasp. The time is now to seize our destinies and rise above the inconsistencies and injustices, we mold the world in our likenesses. Take what is yours, give everything back. Become who you were always destined to be. Love what life wants to offer, it will love you in return.
Now is the Golden Years.
- Poetry: Sometimes Words Hurt - December 15, 2019
- Poetry: Who I Know Myself to Be - December 9, 2019
- Poetry: How Do You Know? - November 8, 2019
