Category Archives: Poetry

Information Age : Rhyme Poetry – Nina

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Its systematic;   for you to be a system addict

Backslash\\\\\\; this is your life; Trapped

Cannot resist the catalyst

The world is mad manic; cash grabbing

Catch a glimpse of the stashing; your information; static

Virus infiltrates the minds of; blinds us

Information age; what a waste and it defines us

Each Day a Blessing via -Bayart

Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it. — Groucho Marx

Smile, the universe has your back. Each day is a fresh chance to make our life what we want it to be. We put to rest the mistakes of yesterday, we dusted off and went to bed.

Now, here comes the sunshine. Arise and greet the day with fresh eyes, a smile, and the determination to be better than we were the day before. Because in reality that is all we’ve got to do.

Whether it’s work or play, it is our choice how we do it. And why wouldn’t we do it 110%? How could we expect to receive Universal Abundance if we half-ass our life?

Setting intentions of consciousness & shifting our mindset, we now put ourselves in a position to seize our greatest potential. All it takes is a positively motivated mindset.

Source: Each Day a Blessing

The toy box in my bedroom. A short story by Goodnightnina

Had to Reblogg!

goodnightnina's avatarGoodnightNina.

Once upon a time, perhaps in another dimension of sorts. Or perhaps an altered reality ( a parallel to the norm which had been departed ). There was a world… it was a dark world like our own although the visions and communications to the mind lay shrouded in an unknown; as to wake up drunk in an amusement park in an abandoned ghost town. All those who enter this realm are intoxicated… euphoric… Or confused.

In this place the laws of physics are often bent, finding oneself transporting from one place to the next. Perhaps flying over the maps of which the reality created unto itself. It is itself; a living and growing place. It’s a place you’ve never been, but you have, faces you’ve never seen but it’s as though a permanent dejavu. Traveling along to its ominous melody.

I find myself in this place often. I climb…

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