“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label hex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hex. Show all posts
Sunday, November 6, 2016
(unnamed)
It is magic
and you cannot stop me
from saving myself
from a worn out hex
bestowed onto to me.
It is energy (also chi)
and used methodically
to end this mean curse
in-heir-antly placed
I may live
by breaking.
It is healing,
helping myself,
or magic.
It is not about you.
It makes
me better.
It is the art
of magic.
Artwork credit By Internet Archive Book Images, Ladies Home Journal 1948 [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
(Bone pile)
My lips are sealed with The caulk of deaf ears. Born for this. Lessons to be learned as chapters Turned Over, like how to read our bodies ...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
I have served between eight and twenty-five thousand meals for my family, I make coffee for them more than once per day, equatin...
-
Lies About Love by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) We are all liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, wherea...