For this second coming, I call you to immerse yourself in this meditation video for you to find yourself and your joy in this life.
As always, it is my wish that with every breath you may find a way to be eased off distress.
Sincerely,
Alyona
Tag: Beauty
The Gift of Self
It is only the prerogative of an enslaved consciousness to deem the truth apocryphal. Nothing bears meaning except for that which we attribute to it. And with no escape from influence, our consolation rests in erecting a fortress of all which is supportive of our true selves; thus, being armed enough to relentlessly wage war against that which does not serve our purpose, or perish in the crossfire. The outcome of the struggle will be greatly contingent on one’s own desire to be free.
Seas of Leviathan
In the tenebrous good-bye of lass gold lights
In the sombre bosom of the afternoon cap
In the crib of night-time greyed mist
Does life blossom through
The heart-beats of Dame Melancholy
In the sultry breath of summer
In the ball of corpses coming
In winter rings of loneness
Does my spirit lift and flutter
Like aethereal butterflies
In a garden of delight
Beknownst to amore sepulchral
Serpentine opus furrows
Through the sensuous heedful romance clad
In undercurrents of Plutonian dance
And in this, my paradise,
The forgot mysteries of the diamond lithe
Trickle down with the cascading sky
The cool zephyr yearns for my skin warm
And I remember beauty
In the arms of the thunderstorm
Beads of Transcendence
The pale blue seeps
through the blinds,
beckoning me to dance
and perfume myself
with the tears of dawn.
Oh, how they shine
with the wistfulness of youth
and potential life!
How tender their visage,
and sensuous their cry,
conjuring mirabilia
upon the world entranced!
And thus, I laud
a sight so bright,
honouring grace at heart –
a core of oceanic tides.
My willows follow
the smiling breeze
of early morning’s wet kiss.
My eaves drip
salted sacraments
of hidden beauty.
Pearl of Sane Madness
In the night’s Plutonian rendition
of water warm and subtle might,
the Silver Lady of the Sky
didst away the ghosts
of past thoughts and spider-webs
of human bejewelled lore.
She soaked herself
in through the guise
of noon gold and rainbow cross,
and oozed from every pore
to purify the pools
with the reflection of Soul.
And I knew, and she bespoke,
“Carouse in the essence
of sweet and tender storm,
and leave no cemetery unturnt
that thou may’st draw deeper
into the mysteries openly veiled
without being swayed
by the dozen semblances
which I have bore
froms drops to streams of frailty
which bedrock is the will
to stand strong.
Saline Attraction
The Fruits of the Sickle Bearer
The marvel of an overlooked perception dazzled me. I feel that the Great Harvester tested the lesson on patience on me as I ventured about my day; albeit it is because I can be patient that I can gain insight into my surroundings and myself. My trajectory today led me to a hospital, and for various reasons, I was set to wait; however, my time was far from wasted.
Besides being bombarded by the usual everyday din and the unwavering restlessness of people, I found myself surprised when I realized that I could not summon into mind any day in the past few years and even further back when I found such an amount of elder folk in one place. The hospital’s entrance brimmed with knowledge and experience in withering vessels.
From the elderly, only one pale and short lady on a walker smiled with the same spark as would a child. The rest were torn and beaten, dwelling in severe semblances and pools of judgement
There was a black lady in particular who carried herself as if her strength would forsake her at any moment. She sat in a corner, far away in thought with eyes of glass. Such illuminating sight! This woman, this vast repertoire of art – her pain was of a beauty phenomenal. She glowed with the starriness of an abyssal sky, the many points of light reflecting through the deep waters of life. She dwelt in a beauty of another kind, yet she may never realize the charm.
Of Hollowed & Hallowed
If by virtue of love
I come to hold thee close,
my darling rose,
let thy petals guide the way
back to the master of hope.
Make the wind
the charioteer of my spleen –
the silken and sweet wish
of an eternal alchemist.
If by virtue of love
we abide within the all,
my precious soul,
the forest lore
indigenous to the core
shall unveil the jewels between worlds.
Whispers and echoing tones
shall join the carnival of glamour
in its seductive call of sandalwood and dragon’s blood.
Primal Call
I walk the warmth-lit meadows of life at a time
just to abide under the ghostly shine of your charm.
Darkened clouds robbed you from me tonight
as I curled up in the arms of winter unabashed.
I shall bathe in the January rain of your wake
and purify my being from the illusion of the light.
You shall still enact the verity of the stars
and lull the thorn in sight,
that beauty be manifest through the veins of soul delight.
Embrace me and intone the rite of sprite
in spite of the graveyard upon which your face is cast.
I’ll dance amidst the rings of silvery might
if you face and remind me of that which came to pass.
Venture into the hidden paths, my distant confidant.
Your opposite child grins upon the solar crown of midnight.
Velvet Strife
The wind whirled
through the hollow mountains and empty forests.
In the live gardens of dormancy,
its frolic met the shadow of its conscience.
The black wind rose and blew the carrion of hope
into the multifarious crevasses of the underworld;
for if there once stood a heart so pure,
the currents of Tartarus reclaimed parentage
over the zephyr most blithesome.
“O Bearers of Beauty and Paladins of Life’s Glow!”
roared the child of hidden thorns;
“Have you no sentiment for the suffering of the sickly nursed?
Woe betide your cowardice
as the world transpires under the vexing star of vacuity!
Lassitude unsurpassed dims the ancient fire and condones lies.
Where is the embrace of sweet night?
Where the dynamic current that transcends flesh and bypasses time?”
