Blog | Words Of Sofia | Page 26 of 152

It keeps me humble to know that only a handful of folks frequent this scribble of a blog,

My wavy analytics have told me so, as they crescendo to three or four, then down to zero.

For I would hate so much if I were an eccentric celebrity or odd form of new age zeitgeist,

And at discovery of my rambling words, I was followed, tracked and mocked for being me,

How disturbed I’d feel if my temple visits worried authorities I might explode a parliament,

Or if I upset presidents who then sent out dutiful partners to mask for them as softer cover,

If politicians frequented my site to assuage their immoral impulses in a corrupting system,

If white-clad saints found breakup courage with unhappy princes after reading into its fury,

If an insecure security state took interest in swirling around each dumb thing I'd preached,

If code creepers used my image outputs to manipulate propaganda that scrolls on past me,

If network weavers pushed information to try manipulate and keep alive my slow-grow mind,

If cults sent emissaries to smile and shake my hand to feel for warmth toward their cold ends,

If corporate narcissists wondered how to capture its imagery and bend to a controlled path,

If unreflecting media mouths tried heed these words only to echo confused in obvious bias,

If tube talkers sought a half-baked philosopher questioning our decrepit ethical conceptions,

If skeptical comedians read over shoulder to tweak the meaning into easy middle-way jokes,

If artists strung perfection expectations on mystique but did not believe the mess I said I am,

And if beautiful young people searched for me on streets to try find fame in my lover’s arms.

But luckily, none of this is the case – well, only in my phrenic split mind.

For I’m just a loner in a tiny bedroom typing half-naked at a screen,

And I have no one to offend, for so few read this mess-of-a-thing,

But if it was famous, perhaps money hoards I would try and make,

Though, in all honesty, so disillusioned with capital have I become,

That adding my name, face and copyright was I unable to partake.

For offering yourself freely as embodiment of pursued passion,

Is how you live eternal, freely stretching your body across time,

Instead of trying to take each moment as divinely yours to own,

I have never called myself a saviour, though Jesus I have implied,

For I seek not to be a perfect image, but live a mess of my truths,

For an image is but a single truth, but my mess relates me to you.

And from endeavouring to offer my truth freely from honest love,

Am I also freed from heaven’s controlling will from highest above,

For the trappings of divinity and coin weigh heavy need on a soul.

And likely, such sluggish attitude means I’ll die unknown broke,

As so many writers obsess words more than the basics of life,

But, at least I’ll have been here freely doing what I love most.

And while many say to never offer yourself freely when others will pay…

I politely tell them they put too much faith in a greedy pyramid scheme,

For nothing in this life has meant more to me, than what I freely became.

2025.05.10

Circle breaks to line

Line links into circle,

Making you and me,

And every other thing.

After all, a long line, might loop around,

And recurrent polarity, might push time.

2025.05.08_CREEPS N'PEEPS_ COUNTRY KITTY

I’m grateful I was once an eager country kitty,

Prancing in swaying fields, woods and flowers,

Cackling with twitters and chatting little critters,

Watching over bugs and splashing beside frogs.

And I’m grateful they shared many stories,

Because their tales taught me to listen well,

Allowing me speak in numerous languages,

By base tones beneath our tweaked words.

And so, I hear you, little spider,

Twanging by tangling in threads,

Singing along a spindle network,

Patterning your speedy weaving.

But I'm not a delicate crawler of many eyes,

I'm a big kitty cat out stalking with my pride,

And I don't purposefully break spider webs,

I just run in far fields looking at cosmic ends.

Yet, it was because I listened for all the other creatures,

That I am the way I am, and see distances far beyond me,

Because they all sang tune about our deeper connections,

Just as the star filled cosmos speaks its language of infinity.

That's why I don't reactively hiss at every snake that slithers near - but if threatened, I know to hiss-roar warning that my reflexes are swifter than an overextending lunge.

And when a dog comes running at me, I don’t turn to run away - I stand my ground steady, ready to show I can swat my massive paws at anything charging at me.

And it’s also why I don't get overwhelmed entangled by a mesh of dainty spider webs – I know my claws are sharp enough to snip threads to allow my soft fur move on.

But don’t fear me, little spider,

I may strut proudly into webs,

But I also feel the netted pull,

And while I may snap at finery,

I don’t squish all spiders whole.

I just keep trekking in far fields,

With my eye gazing at cosmos,

Cause that just what I do most.

And surely, all us country creatures know:

"A cat prides the far fields,

A snake sleeps for snacks,

A dog follows within packs,