Give

Give me back the things you stole from me.

I have no images or metaphors, no language of the soul or dream symbols to express this basic feeling:

Just give me back what I've lost.

Instruction

First breathe..
Then take those vicious
Thoughts like spinning
Knives and turn
Off the switch
That powers them

The switch of intention
That makes you culpable

In a crime against the self

An evil habit of thought
Should never poison
The heart like that

The heart generates
Healing light when
You say no to
That shit

When is suffering enough?
Where is it's end and
How long is a piece
Of string?

Loss II

If you spent years building up a collection of things you had created - little works of art that had personal value - and one day everything was irrevocably lost, what would your next step be?
You would not be able to duplicate any of them, as you are no longer the same person.

It's easy to say "Nothing is really lost. Energy just changes forms."

It's really another story when you lose something priceless.

Or you lose someone.

Serpent rose endeavours

The serpent rose
Is not a human being

These words cannot
Conjure up what is
Forever lost

And the serpent rose
Cannot conjure up
Your precious
Ideal of love

Rather, it is a salve
For not the broken hearted
But the one that has
Sacrificed any hope
Of future entanglement

When you become whole,
You contain each aspect
That you would have clung to
In another, within your
Own being

A being that generates
Diamond light

Justice

"Justice," said the bee
Clutching her sceptre
"I have no use for love"

No more work
No deliveries
Of young

No collections
For the store

Until Justice prevails
As a balm for this unholy
Pain

A voice said,
"You have to let go"

"Justice," said the bee
From her gilded throne

And the hive collapsed

Black hole

Now that you think
Highly of yourself
Maybe it's time
To close off
That pit of despair
That you would carry
Around
Like a black hole
Where memories
Are mixed in
With the bitterness
Of stems

And thorns

Of roses

Of illusion

Delusion

That springs from
Ignorance

A deep black, active
Type of ignorance,
Like a spinning wheel
Of knives

It's time to
Close off
That pit
Of despair

That you would carry
And step into

Like your own
Personal
Black hole

Of memories

That takes in

And gives nothing

Evil

The first evil

The primal evil
is real

It infiltrates the mind
It's constantly arising
within

It's seemingly
random

It has power

Why do you do
the things you do?

What led you to this point in time?

You don't even know
the parts that make
up what you think
is yourself

Desire springs from the void
You love your crutch
After all, what else is there
for you to live for?

Evil pervades.