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Photo by Sam Skyer on Unsplash

Cultural apparitions, inside the womb of mother earth,
sustained by colliders that understand the collective truths,
it is in our agenda that suspension remains fixed inside the heart that collects,
apparitions and emotions inside a turbulent molecule.

Making it inside each chamber, topography is the resting place of the ground,
yourself being the questionable chapter of love,
excursions of the highest being, the change we wish to see in the world
is underneath our fingers, resting in middle earth.

Fighters of freedom remind us that without proper attention,
the desolate will perish like bird seeds in the summer,
unduly beginning a wholesome custom of purity that sells the broken,
replanting them with the bluest of skies, sunsets at dawn. …


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Photo by Brigitte Tohm on Unsplash

It is a decision, the totality of it all,
wisdom from the heart is the great sunset over Beirut,
skimming the surface for transformation, elliptical eulogies,
everything skips inside like a racing dragon, raving and heavy,
the heartbeat is farthest from the illusion of mankind,
the orange glow of sunrise after an evening of exhaustion,
involved in the exquisite circumstances of delight,
the light inside is a bright conundrum, swimming inside the ocean blue,
Japanese maple turns bright red in the autumn season,
shifting inside is the refusal to rebuild something that is already, complete.

A beautiful contraption,
the companion often overlooks imperfections in the naked body,
soul accomplishes the divine mystery of loving perforation,
you, yourself are the ideal companion of the haughty nature,
being a colossal idealization of entrapment inside freedom as a force,
the heart communicates in building a temporary shelter for it’s being,
enclosures find gregarious moons,
absolving responsibility for the cross along the edge,
where one does not step into the process, the elongation of mystery
becomes a bent rule inside the monastery of life. …


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Image by Jackson David from Pixabay

Flying high with the kites in the darkened sky,
one is subject to a multitude of emotions and understanding of the soul,
Spirit shines deep within the nomenclature of design,
man idles in the fantasy of transformation and undulation,
banality bites the forbidden fruit of labor.

The shining of the golden sun reflects apparitions in the sky,
indolence becomes a factor in sensations felt inside the pit of our being,
core of the human essence fits the yearning of the inside,
blackened by professional and debilitating circumstances, often found in life.

Red lanterns fly high amidst a sea of celebration,
gathered for the purpose of idealism and resurrection,
common place ideologies become slogans of the ‘what if,’
collecting particles in the air that condense at the first sight of the auspicious. …


Sky Collection quote prompt №26

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Photo by Jonathan Riley on Unsplash

LIKE MOST WHO ARE UNDERESTIMATED, I HAVE LEARNED TO OVER-PERFORM AND FIND SOFT BUT KEY WAYS TO TAKE CREDIT. BECAUSE ULTIMATELY, LEADERSHIP AND POWER REQUIRE THE CONFIDENCE TO EFFECTIVELY WIELD BOTH. — Stacey Abrams*

Yielding the soft edges of cumbersome interaction,
comfort begins to melt into the amber of million year old trees,
stomped in the preclusion of charity, thereby regaining Spirit seekers into their realm,
swimming with great whales underneath the sea,
one who understands leadership is inside a deep trance of evolution.

Frothing through the youth of the self,
the tethered and cumbersome interaction of the powerful becomes life,
heavy and preoccupied, stance ready to be seen and understood,
asunder is the kaleidoscope of affirmation, seekers into the light,
the raving madness of escaping a solid estimation,
numbness becomes a great mystery of temptation, a quest for feeling. …


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Photo by Amir Taheri on Unsplash

Always antithetical, true narration occurs behind the scenes,
vocal orchestras illiterate sounds, singing Beethoven as it rains,
puddles become watering holes for the thirsty, lost amiss gardens of clouds,
ages turn and we become solitary,
yearning for mistaken beliefs to turn around man’s preoccupied nature.

There remains a Universe, where golden stones ripple among sacred water,
jubilation becomes a theoretical paradise, populous of the underground,
jet streams of salvation are inoculated,
helping hands where none can be found, understanding of natural procedures,
the allocation of lowered vibrations is due to the emergency of humanity.

Raving is the madness that occupies one’s mind,
the eye is consumed by one’s transformation,
spiritual beings become Spirited for a reason; to unnerve society,
to overcome the challenges of the soul, responsible for the innate,
the rituals of under performance become formative,
basic ideology spins around the globe,
and we are left within muddy waters, inside the chambers of the unknown. …


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Photo by Ramiro Pianarosa on Unsplash

In the midst of muddy skies, tormented souls appear in freedom,
slight objectives becoming pathways for the weary onlooker,
grasses greener than jade appear in the pasture,
fields of wheat occupy a suspended mind.

Never is the human satisfied, a basic contraption of an elevated yearning,
understanding faults within another is essential in totality,
a being amidst the underlying apparatus that keeps us still.

Raving madness in the rose garden,
it is a suspension that air-filled molecules dance and glide
as the low brow moon captures the essence of salvation.

The only piece of identity that an individual requires,
is the attainment of viscosity as Jupiter revolves around the skeletal structure of the Universe?

Anna Rozwadowska 2021


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Photo by Diogo Fagundes on Unsplash

Being thyself is an attribution,
the butterfly that has escaped the mold of perfection,
love has given us the opportunity to behold the greatest of design,
perpetual longing in a mold of perfection, to behold the grand attire
of discovery, the self, the other, the ‘I’.

The ensconced discovery of sheltering business in this modern world,
the hands of peace become the listening of a thousand prophets.

Kindness objects rather softly to the observer,
the common man jaded as he is, breaks open the eggshell of time,
being together once in a lifetime, opening a capsule of entrapment.

There,
in the midst of the objective, longing for perpetual love,
the quiet seeker leverages the indolence of activity,
hearsay along the shorelines of effervescence,
control over the steadiness of imperfection lies at the root of anger,
whilst love lies as the quality of the peaceful living man.

Anna Rozwadowska 2021

About

Anna Rozwadowska

Top Writer in Poetry. I am a writer, photographer, psychic, medium, and spiritual guide.I have an M.A. in Environmental Sociology.

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