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WHO AM I.

When words cease to exist.
There is no scope to wander.
I wander when wonder left.
Escape left the boat.
Am I really deep down under.
Vices.
Alarms.
No tales to tell.
Addictions I roll eyes at.
Nothing fills the well.
Mind wants to control.
Soul feels buried deep.
Who I once thought I was.
Has run and played no seek.
Mundane as eating cardboard.
Boxes go to hell.
I just can’t find my self anymore.
Ones self has lost the shelf.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, Death, God, Intuitive, life, lyrics, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, Mystic, One, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit, spirituality

ARE WE ALIVE OR IS IT THE BREEZE THAT BREATHES THROUGH WE.

ARE WE ALIVE OR IS IT THE BREEZE THAT BREATHES THROUGH WE.

Does it bare life.
Does it stand strong.
Does the wind fling it around.
Singing the winds song.
Is it dead, stood still.
Rigid.
Rigamortis.
Yet the air breathes through its vessel.
Perceiving life’s liveliest wishes.
An instrument with no player.
A silent sound – minus the mute.
A foot of the climber adorned with no boot.
A dragon – no wings.
How does one fly?
The day – no night.
A lid – minus eye.
The arc minus rainbow.
Hologram in a bin.
Cherry pie in the sky.
The portal within.

Poetry Bec Hart.

Art, ascension, change, Community, Connection, God, Intuitive, life, lyrics, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, Mystic, One, philosophy, Poetry, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit, spirituality

THE TIDE, THE TURN.

THE TIDE, THE TURN.

The wind it moves,
A sacred dance.
A loose structure,
Pure cleansing, trance.
The wind holds eyes,
In ancient skies.
Orange, red.
A holy bed.
A resting wake.
A longing tooth.
From foot, to eye.
From brick, to roof.
Upon ancient winds.
The tide shall turn.
Some will win.
Some shall learn.
In both, a winner.
No loser, in-sight.
The Earth.
The wind.
Blows wolf – away.
Angelic might.
Prophetic delight.

Art and poetry created Feb 2020 – Bec Hart.

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ALWAYS HELD.

ALWAYS HELD.

ON DEATH DOORS WAKE.
THE OLD MUST BREAK.
AS PAIN RISES NEW.
DORMANT SHAME AS A TIME BOMB.
RIDDLED THROUGH.
ONE CANNOT HIDE.
NO MORE.
CONTROL WARS.
DRAMA.
A DYING DOOR.
SUNKEN SHIPS.
DEEP.
DYING.
DEATH.
YOU ARE HELD.
BUT WHAT IS….
LEFT.

ART AND POETRY – BEC HART.

change, Community, Connection, Death, God, Inner child, Intuitive, life, Messages, MOVEMENT, musings, One, philosophy, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit, Trauma

BEING A WOMAN.

What being a women has taught me, is that life was not in the suffering, the denial, rejection, opression, objectification, abuse, manipulation, degrading, labelling and sexualisation.

All of which I have faced.

That wasn’t life but lessons.

The story will always be a part of my life, at times denied parts may rise and maybe my story may be shown through another yet it doesn’t have to be the guide any longer nor lead the way.

Grateful for the breaking of armour and the uncovering of my true essence.

We was and are life as we lay in the womb and life as we are now lay in the womb of the universe.

Power is in the ability to stay as strong as a tree at the core as the world falls around you,  not faltering or altering your authenticity by manipulating others and controlling the direction but to be true to your truth, compassion, self love and worth. Allowing our emotions, feelings and truth to be a guide but not our master.

Handing over the struggles and rising in God’s hands as we trust that all is in divine order within Mother/Father God’s plan.

Being a women is being in her truth, unlimited nurturing, love, creation, power, vulnerability, courage, depth, playfulness and forgiveness.
Healing hands without a touch nor plan to heal a thing.

This is the power of a women.

This power a man holds within him too. Repression of the feminine within. Also a lesson not a life plan.

Balance, the key to see.

I am grateful for all those who came before us and now stand beside us in and as the air, trees, breath, being, bones and grit of life.

Beyond grateful!

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY.

May our days be blessed.

ascension, change, God, life, musings, Mystic, One, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Source

WAITING FOR GOD.

I used to feel like people tore me apart.
Threw me about.
Got what they wanted and left.
I used to feel like no matter what I did,
I didn’t matter.
Regardless of boundaries.
No boundaries.
Change.
Love.
Open heart.
Closed heart.
How great or poor I was;
Financially.
Successfully.
Aesthetically.
As a friend.
A lover.
A partner.
A foe.
Nothing worked.
No thing moved.
Defined.
Objectified.
Denied.
Abandoned.
Unloved.
I realised it was I.
I that did all those things.
To myself.
Holding on to hot coal.
Waiting for it to turn to water.

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AWAKEN FROM THE DREAM.

THE DREAM.

AWAKEN FROM THE DREAM.
THOUGHTS THAT TORTURE.
SEEM.
LIKE LIFE IN A MOVIE SCENE.

BATTLES FAR ASHORE.
PUNISHMENT NO MORE.
CAST AWAY THE SINS.
RELEASE THE PRISON WITHIN.

BREAK DOWN THESE ANGRY WALLS.
BITTERNESS ATTACKS, AS WE PLAY SMALL.
AWAKEN US FROM THIS NIGHTMARE.

TAKE US FREE, IN TO FLIGHT.
THREE FOLD FLAME.
FREE US FROM THE WHEEL OF KARMA.
LET US FEEL AS ANGELS.

OF THAT, WE ARE.
STARS OF HEAVEN.
COSMIC.
DELIGHT.