Showcase Trice (Workshop 3 Collaborators
Wildly popular intelligent an kind, wonder how many people can read between the lines?
Transparency hides one thing to expose another
I was looking through the glass, the case for a memory
They don't understand why I need to burn with him
Past flows sometimes like thick cord burning through hands leaving scars, sometimes like sand slipping through grasping finger
The Memory isn't hidden, it's reactive, dramatic.
Knocked on the door but the devil won't let me in
Living things are etched with the past, like a wooden plank carved, burnt and stained to make something new
The tension in the twist, the burn in the reveal... Live wires dancing on frayed nerves…
Part sinner part savior that's just who I was born to be Archangel on all fours incinerates every part of me..
Life and death come in cycles, the sunrise gives death to the night and stars, they remember and rise once more when it sets.
Out of the depths, my soul rises, like a Phoenix flying into an event horizon.
Do not judge him by the way his skin is his canvas
Memory is etched in both the body and mind. Scars, dreams, hopes, loss, change and determination all carve molding the raw material like mud on a wheel becoming pottery. Destined to shatter back to being soil once more.
Just like a bud that breaks open early... Frost encrusts its form... To the naked eye, it appears all hope is lost... Yet, it burst forth, enchanting…
Eucharistic supper lays upon the altar of my lips stunning eyes that showcase what he's seen, That's who he is, reflected in pools of emerald green.
The Memory of the cup, the well worn spot on the table from being twisted in deep thought while enjoying warmed water scented with natures bounty. Lasting impressions are made.
Drifting in the sequence of time... Awakened by the possibilities to harness the spectacle of brilliance.
So why don't you judge me the way that you judge him?
Purpose, joy, pain. Things live on in other things, and history, slowly and surely builds future.
Robbed by time... Are these seasons aligned in the human frailty of souls searching for their purpose..
Am I more beautiful because I have unmarked skin?
There is that horrible line: the present is called that because it's a gift. But… the truth is an eternal endless streams of nows is all we have.
Living is the key... Remembering each moment is a gift... Love hard even if the timeline is fractured…
Don't you Realize that the outside is what hides the beauty within?
Nostalgia robs us of the joy of the present, dreams make us sleep through the beauty of what is, and yet, what else is a living being to do as they drift through time.
Historically, our hearts and soul show up... Authentically, unapologetic as wisdom shapes our worldview... Everyday is perpetually better even though we are not conscious how we show up to the world.
Boo...
Brier... &
Lyrically yours,
MydNite Renaissance ❤️🩹
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Showcase Trice (Workshop 3 Collaborators
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