This meagre world

This meagre world,
Was an emerald.
Swept with fires
And clay.
Sticks and stone-and grass
It doesn’t matter what you say.
-it doesn’t.
We’re worried how it will last.

We had this gem.
This emerald.
But we-
We wanted Diamond.
We wanted a diamond,
But in our haste we made coal.
And now we find, the fire of our labours.
Feeding upon our soul.

Will. (From the outside looking in).
This metaphore extend?
Look upon us, from outer space.
Witness our suicide- our end.

Will this metamorphasis be bleak and black.
Smoke, choke
Green gone,
Logs to smog.

Will in-time we transform back?
will we ascend?
Is it the jungle’s emeralrd we’ll see?
Do we endevour wrongly?
The titanic mistakes.
Casting a blinding glimmer in our eyes.

Fore we are at sea.
Adrift and blind.
To the colours of green and black.

In our attempted control.
The jungles safely destroyed.
Peeled back. We seem to have discarded the green but the dark has resided.
Just as the night was full of terrors.
Our judgement of colour marks our errors.
The monkey laughs,
Howls at our awareness.
We slip up.
Searching for “Gold”
Our goal. The challenge of progress.
Laid down by our forefathers.
Doubtful anyone came to the false goal.
The gold was merely the skin of a banana peel.

The blinds shut out our reasoning.
Deduce that.
But we shant. Our attention.
The passtime being anything,
Hiding our nature.
Our nature and nature differ in that it is our belief that we have control over the other.
Nature and nature and nature and nature.
Our nature? WHAT NATURE?
You are alone in your mind.
Alone with your understanding.
This word. BUT A WORD.
The links, the vines, whirlpools, strings attachments, hooks, lines pages binderes collection collaboration riddles and rhymes in each of our minds begins with a void; crammed!
Nature is for you, what it is for nobody else.

Your eyes use a lot of energy.

We had an emerald.
We wanted a diamond.
We made Coal.
And in our impatience,
We set ourselves alight.

“You make the bed you sleep in”.

We’re so fickle.
Some of us don’t make it.
WAIT: fickle? I meant fragile.

“We’ve just gotta. Make it.
Make it through this, survive until we can sleep.

Sleep, rest, recover.
Hangover gone.
An oil change.
Blood, rich and red.
Eyes white and coloured:
Like pearls.
Glint returned.
No rush,
You don’t need to BE anywhere.
You’re stopped.
Not stopped dead, but present.

Eyes like pearls,
The bags,
Puffy deposits – underneath no more.
A ready smile.
No blush.
Not flustered.
Not rampant, lost, banal or wild.
Breathing. Conscious.
Not in need.
Not wasting.
No fake face or facade.
Genuine, real, relaxed.
Melted away are your fears:
Troubles and baggage. Melt.
You function above, at a higher level.
you dance.
No bad karma or acts of a chaotic universe may harm you.
Meticulous perfection embodied, kept free from harm.
Take your time
You know…
We’re OK

We are all OKAY.
No grief.

I feel like I could turn this into a cocktail.

Which basically just means we can add a heap of alcohol to this cold sugary drink.. And totally get away with it.

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