Good morning /afternoon everyone! I apologize to those who wasn’t able to view the poem in the WordPress reader and/or on the reader website yesterday.
It seems like it was only able to be viewed when on the WordPress site or clicking on the link to view in webpage. My apologies. So, I decided to just repost it but without embedding the Facebook link I got it from, and delete the one from yesterday.
Below is a poem from Sacred Dreams’ Facebook written by Cyrielle Soares. While pondering what I was going to do about my Facebook personal and writer’s pages, I came across this poem someone shared in a Twin Flames’ group I’m in and checked out the original post for the poem. It’s beautiful and speaks to the heart and soul. It really makes you think about certain types of beings that have come into your life over the years.
* * * * * *
There are beings that satisfy you.
No not from their presence,
But of their simple existence.
There are people who sleep with you, never touch your sheets.
Just by their thoughts that accompany you.
There are some wonderful men.
There are people whose ease of penetrating you is magic.
They type your dreams like we would compose a piano melody.
They write words straight out of another world.
As if the world of the living does not have access to these magnificent words.
They perfume your tears of sense and forgiveness.
They inhabit your floors, your attics, your cellars and your attics, and illuminate them in the light of their hearts.
They travel under your skin making chills and bursts.
They rock your cravings like mornings that wake up slowly.
There are people who thrive with life.
Who draw words about minds.
Who soothe all evil.
Of those who heal, feel and pet.
Of those who upset our fragile balance.
Because they are free.
Because they love without waiting.
Because they are rare.
Magic or terrifying.
Like labyrinths where we get lost irreparably.
Where we are not looking for the exit.
Where certainties always fly in blast.
Where the abyss fixes our damaged sides.
These beings devoid of expectations that offer their absence like a tomb that we bloom from our imaginary sorrows.
They are beautiful.
Alive and dead.
They are forever.
In the form of friends, love or soulmate.
Call them what you want.
They line our lives with balms and honey.
I know that.
I’ve lived it.~
What are your thoughts about this poem?