Teardrops…

Tears drop from eyes and skies upon the canvas of our lives.. painted with precise strokes by a lit source, as an artist, or poured out onto a face, from within your space… immersed within feelings, artistry, and connections.. displayed for all to see, when your waters shed your flow… allowed out, for all to view.. or held in, awaiting the next storm to brew… flows, from inside to out.. shows up outside to touch withins… all that see, the beauty of a tear, crying for attention, and feeling what it bares…

the artist renders his muse upon the paints, giving life to an otherwise unobserved fling.. of flow, and its life coursing through his veins to become the source.. inners to outer membrane of Sol, splashed into our reality, from whence it came… examples of natural laws, played out by their vessel.. with care and empathy, each and every manifested painting, borne inside, claws and tears to come out.. feelings to some, inspiration to an artist, rendering their insides out.. out, for all to view, empath and critics, of what’s on the page, not knowing what was poured out…

tears of a clown, turning frowns upside down, while discounting theirs, as the show grows on… feelings, of the crowds, perceiving fools running around… not realizing they’re the fool, needing gratification at anothers expense.. putting their emotional baggage on hold, whilst enjoying shows of irrelevant farce… paying to stop the workings within, side shows stop relevant matters… unresolved, and put a lid on, for instant gratifications… not understanding the weights carried, bottled up inside, to blow off steam in another arena.. days, months and years, stopping their natural flow, and inserting spectacles to help make them forget… and what is an illusion, and whom makes it up… onlookers, viewing shows and making their own.. feelings turned wrong-side up.. unaware of their true face, turned inside out, by outer commotions.. shows and displays, anything to stop peeking within, staying occupied by games, of actors, players and played… turning life into illusory living, not comprehending what they’re seeing, now feeling shows that stop their waters from flowering… all pretend now, reality shows of others kinds… no more shows, they own.. another player, added to the mass, acting in their own tents, and taking peeks outside to checkout the crowds… not feeling the moment, but acts in a show, making their own circus.. unknowingly now, the clown in their own big top…

from tears of a clown, tears frowned upon the vessel.. let out in laughter, of debotcheries.. tears, that drip, drop or deluge, unaware if they’re laughing at the crying or crying at the weeping… waves breaking on empty beaches, and misunderstood shores… yet the vessel keeps asking for smores… bury all pain and discomfort, closing the beach, no swimming, no lifeguard on duty… interior dams build, unaware of its own building… only matter, in time, will stoppage blow.. out as anger, disdains and distrusts.. unleashed on all others, in their path.. ticking time bombs of contained natural flows… held and receded, from waves that break.. now breaking on family members… moods and views, judgements and opinions, stacking up from previous delusions… and what was the illusion… and what may it become… transferring and shaping, worlds within and around its structure…

children come in, not knowing the score, wants to know more… told what to do, from unurtured views.. what is, and what shall be.. growing up in weeds.. flowering bulbs, sifting through the thickets handed down to us, from psychotic behaviors of befores.. and after.. truth seekers, babes in woods over their heads, borne to ancestral indoctrination cracks and lacks in their foundations.. lava flows through the volcanoes, above and below.. bits and pieces, we pick up hints and allegations, of what to believe… while searching for the why’s… equalizing previous karmas, unbeknownst along our way… attempting to untangle the webs, lies and compromise… hidden, altered, made-up and tricked… and what is an illusion… the truth, twisted and consortia , by their hands…

growing, but never completely made up… no affairs of adulterated beliefs, Mary solely appears to the child… divine mother builds and flows naturally… plants and animals work the structures.. as the vessel kneads, it begins to know.. know she is the path, to nurture, allows the flow… shadows inside and out, begin to unveil, feeling the clouds building to storms.. thunder and lightning, winds torrent their course… unleashes havoc, or sparks of growth.. knowing they’re coming, and going, expecting and allowing their reins… to pull us in, and out to seas, of unrest and continual movements.. observed, felt or knot.. truth is, manifestations of a current light.. turned on by the bringing, kept on by the knowing… til the next ebb, of wants to know more.. children in the fields now, gardening for our own.. lives, liberties and heights.. unbound by previous generations, of tender-footing around…

give it to us straight, or don’t give it, at All… tyre of masks, faces of the same kind, pretending to differ, veils and shadows within them projected out to make believe… childlike, not born yesterday, so lead, follow or get out of our whey… deconstruct the shadows, bring them all out, into your light.. bare it all, Sol delight.. shed the tears of fears brought upon innocent children.. stay there, warmed by knowing, observing the clash.. breakers, made to break apart, not you… your feelings and thoughts, allow to break them a part, of within the shadows and attachment to the illusion that starts every our….. remain the curiosity, not the findings… pieces, to peaces.. puzzles, to articulate… remains the questor, never seeking to conquer, but to gain… understandings and connections, amidst the predicaments that bind.. not bound to previous commitments, of rulers and thugs, adulterous hoodlums or hypocritical oaths… no longer laughing at tricksters, and paying for their acts… scooping their pooping, shoveling away the shit.. brought on by eons of little Ones, controlling our screens… nature the Sol filter, can’t be bothered bout your tents.. put up before we arrived, of inconsequence to children playing in the open.. nothing to unveil, when always living there… in tense, entrance of another sense.. a where to go, when looking for a show.. a where to pass time, another illusion.. already decided, each tent put up to huddle their masses.. so called adults, and mature ones, bullying the children… kids, in mature forms, who now know the score.. and that they’re played.. different now, not paying any more.. no karma attached, to logical thinkers, no ceilings to contain such nonsense, brought upon all and spread about.. stay in the nature… weather their storms, rages and wages brought to bare.. not of we, reject your offers, conditioning and results.. clouding our skies, above and below… keep altering the views, at this point, all fake news… mixed with dim lights and dimwits…

soley playing with children now, growing up and out, All about… no respecter of false flags, waving around… not playing in cathedrals, institutions, places of showings.. theatres with make ups, re-writers, stories to tell.. opinions to make facts, believers to be left behind the shadows, never seeing the curtains.. only one, star in mine, to show.. not for applauding getaways, but for interior come alongs.. only One to view… leaving it all out there, to brew and concoct naturally, receiving Her nature, in return…

Tears from years, of the pushing and pulling.. equalizing now, brought on by their unnatural tendencies.. leanings and prejudices, conquers more minds… castigated peoples, ruled by leaders, rotting at their cores… thinking themselves the intelligence, of the whole… sellers of rights and wrongs, and what shall become.. only Sol may break the spells, as spirit rises above and beyond the ruckus of plays… lighting shadows, and hearts along our ways… warming up within and all about, tears of bittersweet, now convey this Ones course.. not a sucker, bottle fed or led… no leader, master or slave nor wanting, of material success… simply blazing the journey, and being, its flight…. looking forward to playing with other children.. of likelihoods… staying the fool, never to be fooled again.. as the sound of pied pipers, ring in the near…

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