Solitary platitudes being given out in ways of unnoticeable manners.
Checking on lists of mandatory possibilities, giving in to every whim along the way.
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There are no keys to imagination, it lies within,
creative genius and art.It stands waiting for incredible voyeurs to gathernotes, words, pictures, paintings for an eternalgallery to posterity of what we hold within ourminds.Listening to inner voices, hearing what most neverhear because they don’t listen to their souls orinterior lives.Disquieting stress cannot penetrate this solitaryfield, full of desert acres.Contemplative works of art being created…
Easily walking, slowly down small town streets, reminding yourself of where you came from and going back to the roots of childhood.
Calmly entering realms of being, totally bent on using heartstrings, feeling emotional and never blinking an eye when showing them to anyone.Looking out for beautiful sensations of an open book, a person with no secrets writing poetry.
Saddened recollections hit me squarely in my mind, scattering my peace to four corners and bringing tears to rain on me.
Only live with the pain of being human while on earth.
Going deeply into processes of thinking, alighting on certain characteristics where patterns are derived.
Totally locating an energy from within, allowing it’s peace to spread itself throughout, without an ounce of doubt to consume me.