Indigo Canopy

Liberation from the conflagration, an endless repertoire of seemingly similar arrangements.

Flowing fluidly and blooming as the summer continues to hang by a hinge, further into an abyssal domain in which we engage in the endless discussion.

To be an addition, a multiplication or an ultimate subtraction, through our own actions we dictate how our fate will be further enacted.

Chances and choices, down the wormhole or into the void, a story that has not yet been told, will it be sold, so that the provider may meet simpler goals?

For we fold when we do what we are told rather than trust our hearts and be bold, for endlessly we are rolled into a conjunction that functions as a mechanical construction.

When in reality we are forces of divine creation, capable of manifesting dreams and wonders where previously there was mere fascination.

Violations of sacred pacts, we further distract ourselves to avoid a painful truth, that once released is instantly renewed, for through both sides of the coin do we see that only a fragmented percentile of the truth was filtered through previously.

Now to decide, rather than hide, for we abide only by our freedom, that which is our only possession, our truth and spirit, to accept that which is or allow it to be denied.

Yet that is death, is it not?

When we live aimlessly and wander endlessly in search of an external satisfactory conclusion, programmed thoughts as though we were no different than cold steel robots.

Yet of the flesh and blood, we feel this rush, an emotional surge of passionate energy that grips our bones deeply, no longer can we hush.

So we move forward from the darkness and into the light, heart in hand as a torch bearing witness to eternity, let’s accept and perceive that which was previously out of touch.

For we are the gateway and the conduit, the choice in which we roam the plains is ours alone unless we give our free will away in fear for the security of nothingness.

As we may have this moment, this mere day and nothing more, to allow it to fade away without grasping our potential would be nothing but a wounded piece of history, a forgotten piece of possible lore.

Soaring endlessly above this astral dichotomy, presenting variables that both entice and repulse me, another challenge, another encryption to decrypt, for that is life, is it not?

A mystery indeed, so what will you make of it?

Sending you Light through Love,


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Categories creative writing, poetry, short storyTags , , ,

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