Afterwords.

After the Epiphany,
all is still. Released
warm and sweet. 

Lingering notions, a
palette of seeds. Absorbing
emotions to grow.

We find it in words,
in colors and verbs...
in confidentiality.

I am a Channel.

I am a Vessel. 

I am everything that does not stand still. 

Repression.

my immortal self is unimposing,
to express emotion, less enclosing.

Letting go is freedom found,
Midnight thoughts in a sleeping gown.

I saw the box that I once knew,
a world, which from the inside grew,
the paper walls it all came through...

Repressed no longer, in this late hour.
Resilient now, a soft fresh power.

Compulsories of the mind

Protruding signs of my mortality
recommend a slower pace.
Suggestions by thoughtful peers
that I forsake the race.

Many attempts to escalade
the qualm within my chest,
lacking all sapience,
and misunderstanding the rest.