dowsing the crystals with illustrious mayhem the tainted air of dragon’s breath, poison, enlightening myself to the treasures of the planet, the powers deep within me, I need not lace melodies from counterparts, I need not stunt my heart with mimicry, hidden behind obscure masks, no, there is strength in being myself, knowing, learning, stronghold, resilience from waking hour to the magical twelfth.
allowing her heart, green chakra to ache and heave breaths suddenly inert then heavier cast bronze statue of sin elaborate not the mishaps nor the immoralities untoward but feast upon the irreverence which rusts not that bronze but iron ore. karmic connections hence grow more and soul contracts stately dreams within her eyes she wants nothing more than to take the journey rip it by its seams, cherishing not the path, but the destructive nature, demise, of everything she thought she’d ever need. substance, subtract, divide, understanding the atrocities of current sins and wreaking havoc with subtle powers which give more away than sensational pages could ever hide, there’s nothing more to dictate she’s heightened, aware, rest assured, by her side her hand twitches, certain powers are abhorred, but her strength within, grown more and more.
the dance the flautist sweetly breezes her melody, I can barely hold myself together that breath which creates wonder not an insolent din, fires once raged and sins were born but hell hath no current feature, gone, perpetually, is that scorn!
no devils raging on shoulders, no carrying heavy loads to break weary backs, they do not prance their fiendish means above the line of fresh air, because, because, they are no longer there.
free of sin and lightly taking in the trilling shrill song, breezing of the instrument filled with delight and winding heart song, streams, what is it they look for what is it they search for now? peace, serenity, and then jubilance all around!
angels ring and angels call they embark upon journeys to those one-lost souls perpetuating the knowledge of a thousand years, the collection, the atoms, enlightening.
purple: violet and lilac, yellow: citrine and gold, ruby in her richest red, and pink, mauves, all around. And rose gold surrounding that symbol of love, yes, this integral melody, beautiful piece, has been carefully constructed, for the flautist, carefully made like a perfect bouquet for her grown.
He takes her hand, as gently as can be, enlivened soul, enriched loving eyes, they know truest loves meant to be, deep inside.
Multifaceted and colours of the spectrum, a man romantic, with heart pounding for his love, eternal, to return to him again, their binding shade, deep violet, wondrous spiritual shade.
they entered the world with floating stars when she decided to calmly leave this planet, she was relaxed, she knows her charms, arm in arm he accompanied her, then returned to a land, near not far.
Oh, how loyal he is to her, it’s not just memories that keep her alive his sentiment for her is so pure, loving loving eternity they will never come undone here, nor the skies,
betwixt for forever, a future lifetime still as One they will always remain together in heart, soul and mind, truest aching love.
it is with joy that I thank this world that I live in,
This Universe that makes my heart sing, a certain knowing that tender love does bring.
I thank the Universe for my guides, the archangels for their presence, and with goodness and grace heaven sent, I thank the Lord for being there for me, even when at times I fail at acknowledgement.
Raise my ears to the Heavens, scorch the skies with my passions, and Kingdom Come, there is magic in my circumstance, delirium in my instance, and an amazing reverie for us to view, to speak of, to sing with, my darlings, won’t you harken with me?
the waves take me on a journey where I’m lulled into a sense of security and notes like gentle hands wash over me, I am amazed and quiet, there is nothing remaining above the surface, a breath and I’m underneath, the seaweed, coral, clown fish are brighter than above-days, my heart is pounding ecstatically, once well-rested, there’s so much to take in, to see.
engineered cobwebs from entangled jellyfish limbs, mesmerising affray, dilating metamorphic, fluid heads, bodies, passing my very way, I become at peace with this sight entranced at their careless might, manners so poignant with each other there’s nothing which escapes my sight; gone under.
And further under, I bury myself in the silt and sand, mischievous with this land, another clown fish passes, then mum and dad. Oranges brighter than witches’ cones, I smile to myself, they entertain, and I know their intent is nothing to amuse, they simply, casually amble, stop, move.
The colours, they always brought me hope, Aura-binding, hue-enhancing, Pink, yellow, blue, green, indigo, But where is the pink, the love I know? I went through life from goals to achievements, Strengths to knowledge, Triumph and growth, But I fell apart, Underlying predisposition, Some of us break at the seams, Myself: undiagnosed manic depressive. Etching large shadowy figures on my Bedroom walls, Self-harm, Tears they would fall, Such joy, elation at some Then tirades I’d turn, Over perfectionism, What was going on…? My warning signs? Even I failed to learn. So begins my tale, Decade-long struggles Horrifying relapses to be
witnessed and unfold Truth be told Not all needs enormous detail… (C) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock poetry and prose. All rights reserved. Image from Pixabay
SCHIZOAFFECTIVITY family can be a strange thing. One minute you’re loved then the next you’re like a pestilence, an unwanted being. Of course, bringing it upon oneself, well, that’s something different, but in the end, I was made the tyrant, laid away on the shelf though only temporarily.
And I suppose, I suppose it is so, this falling-apart thing that happens to my mind when I go temporary awry, momentarily insane, is this the pushing button inside, or on my brain that makes me ill for two closed months when I’m made to be locked away, my words spoken loudly in vain?
I am just a patient, mentally, I have delusions, grand, carried out about the land and while I whine and scream, still want to shine, in my hand a small cup of perilous potions to be sucked down inside.
The system wants to treat, they do it in the best ways they can but some they cannot help people like me initially on medications I feel they burden me, I choke.
There’s nothing different about health these days in fact, there IS, but in time I will realise that some just wanted to help some were happy for me to shine and like the ordinary world, with some others, they wouldn’t pay my words a dime.
I understand I can’t always please, temporarily the medicine makes me want to heave there’s just so much of it, my addled mind, years ago progressed from bipolar to schizoaffective disorder, whilst in my “prime”.
But it’s no longer on my side, my love, and the key, wrong place, wrong inked time, and I need this man, and I guess, perhaps he needs me, too, pity I seem like the fool.
Not as a soulmate, not as a kindred spirit, but just a best friend. Just? Is that not good enough? Maybe it’s not, but it’s the best that I’ll receive? Is this truth? If so, to digest it, it’s rough.
These deeply personal thoughts collect in my head, should not be visually recorded, I should not post nor project but I need to get them down, out, I feel like I’ve cut myself off for a man who even doesn’t recognise my true crown. Not the visual, but the spiritual. The swirling, the colours, all around.
This logical, not even subliminal hurts, I am not in the throes, no, I am not, I need much more, damnit, but how much more can I demand before I’m cut off, no more love, whatever style, from his hand? Complaining? I am more than enough.
I used to be so independent and pretty now I’ve grown dependent, an ugly being, hand-holding baby, where is the prized confidence? Where am I now?
Kookaburras sing their laughter, two fighting for acknowledgement, one with the other, and galahs smile with their cheeky beaded eyes winking, oh my! and the lorikeets feast on our figs, damn it! Mum wants to know WHY. Why is it they are so greedy, sitting on the boughs so precious, looking for something delicious for a bird so pretty, one two flew the coup, out the nest, and well, life is just beginning. Slowly, slowly, starstruck, one is startled and soars to hide but her presence is noted, taken, assessed and made begotten, wondering what did she do to be ignored by hand holding little buttons?
There is the cryptic and here within are the clues, of life we must undertake many different, many hues, I am certain that there will be challenges, here now I acknowledge the twittering magpies who always stay home with their children, and knowing their loyalty, I know our pills must be taken in order for the positive side of myself to inevitably be spoken and seen.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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