These Real Women, These Real Angels (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 249)

Praise be to all of existence

for the sexy, intelligent, aware, passionate, and empathic women that I have been honored to meet lately.

Their beauty is outstanding and damn near breathtaking to me every moment I lay eyes upon them.

They are angels blazing in the glory of graceful creation

and the weak minded materialistic women of such little empathy,

and such off kilter priorities in the breath they breathe and share with all others,

are not worthy of even standing in the shadows of these real women,

these real angels.

Sometimes,

it’s so easy to forget that they are out there also trying to survive in all of the madness,

enveloped and hedged in unceasingly by the greater herd of zombie females,

and also hunted persistently, yet in some half-hearted lingering tortuous nightmare attempt by the “love” of the prevailing zombie horde of males,

but I have always dreamed of them,

always known they had to be real,

like the sun and the moon,

and the wind and the rain,

your own heartbeat beating through your chest,

your own tears streaming down your face,

your own breath caught and then released,

and your own uncontrollable laughter and joy that possesses all of you until you believe you might spontaneously combust into nothing but tickling flames to be spread across the rest of the universe forever and ever.

I love them.

I love them all beyond words.

I have always loved them and I always will.

And that is the way it is meant to be.

It is the undeniable beauty of natural order,

not broken or numbed or cut the fuck out of a once gorgeous soul.

These angels,

these exquisite women,

symbolize to me more than anything else that I might imagine,

the capability of attainment of astounding beauty and profound love

that exists in the choice of free will alongside

the similar capability of those others

who choose to squander, insult, and defile their free will,

and the very nature of all of existence itself.

Cribb          2018

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