Rapture Your Soul
We carry cobwebs that need to be brushed. But we fear them, as they look of webs. A dwelling for eight legs and venom. Ignore them do we, fearful watching as the wind sways them delicately. Clean them? But what if a creature lives within them, ready to kill what life we have left?
Well so be it, at least an attempted to become healthy in spirit gave you hope to become something new. Clinging to filth is nostalgic, memories riddle the old. We hold dearly as we angst they may be useful later on.
But when has a cluttered heart of antiques led one to be profound in themselves? By all means keep the scars of lessons, but do not hold tight to what only brings burden. Scratch the regret from the mind and polish it for something greater.
Too often a mind becomes a place only for the instinctual. Hiding behind every wall from any ounce of pain. Rejection favors most, leaping behind what they already know. Only later to be traveling down the same road. Wondering where they went wrong, it was in the doubt of killing the old. Of tossing the lethargic ego that stood bold. But was only an Oz behind a curtain. That led them to fall meager to the world.
I too am guilty of the pleasure of a weak ego. But many times have I killed it before, only to see it grow back. But each time I pull it from its roots and bleed it dry. Always keep your eyes on your garden and keep a blade near by. For many roots become vicious and strangle the beauty that grows inside.
There is no perfection, but one can strive to keep themselves leveled and clear in the mind.
Thank you for reading, what cobwebs sit in your soul?
Read more by grabbing a copy of A Man's Traveled Heart
Popular posts from this blog
I have been writting poetry on medium, does anyone still wish me to write short stories on here?
A Summer Bird's Winter Perch I watch this lonely bird chirp upon a slopping branch. Its feet wrapped firmly around the thin finger of bark. As I watch, I commiserate its position. Sitting there, alone, singing with no others to listen. Speaking I assume, to itself. Maybe contemplating its unfortunate circumstance. For the rest had already left for the winter. If I am not mistaken it was only a few days ago that I watched a flurry of birds dart by. Their wings flapping against the brisk wind collectively. Not a single one appeared worried of their journey. Their shadows crawled quickly across the empty streets during a fall evening. I watched them pass by like a feather floating down stream. I couldn't help but wonder, how long must they fly? What winds must they fight, what elements must they battle against? All must be against them as is every moment in time is against us all? Yet they fly forth to the heat of earth. Dependent upon their survival but, what
The Taste of Love, Will It Ever Be Mine? When will I find my lips upon the sweet taste of love? Lost to its scent like the aromal smell of roses upon skin. Will there be an end, beneath an apple tree buried next to my other half? Or will I drown in the soiled pity of my heart as whiskey stains my veins? For I find the misery of myself to be a dull company, but yet its tingles with addiction. And I draw my eyes close to the empty halls of the damned. Screaming for peace but always find myself chocking on pride. Lost in a dense fog I created in the heat of breath upon my frozen heart. Distant am I, in the reaches of tears. For they have no existence in the forefront of my mind, nor heart. Some may call me hollow, lackluster in the dreams of my own thoughts. What is one without the acceptance of tears, without the bravery to step into the engagement of vows? How does one truly go beyond his own vicious habits if there lies no other to call them out? I hear my soul whispe