Monday, October 27
True, Trickery
His name finds me, reoccurring on the pages,
Though he stays far away, I keep coming undone.
The chapters progressing, we go through stages,
Somehow growing in contrast, flipping one by one.
It wills itself to sit quietly, the love, then darts, steadfast,
Into and out of existence, always hidden and clear of the sun.
It proves to be, of sorts, the kind that lasts,
Alive in memories, imprinted in pasts, if not in reason.
If not in seasons, love reproduces, emanating in energies,
They were here, ready, before the matter had begun.
Time, unlike me, waiting patiently for the queries,
Heart drops, I am left to wade through sea-lengths of stun.
Waiting, frightened, cautious and calm, along the tree banks,
He, a maltreated night-fox. Me, a stilled Blue Heron.
We fight in states of confusion, war, with opposing strengths,
But with words to serve as my only weapons, I find none.
I need know, in order that I proceed with this decision,
What places, true-heart or trickery, the man comes from.
Is the approach, welcome, though sudden, with good intention,
Or partially masked and coated with anger and reproach?
Either love and peace, or sadness, has already won,
No discoveries, warm in my hands, until conversations encroach.
Is it love of wisdom, or love of oneself, which causes our elation?
These are my concerns, laid out before us in creation,
And from which I have no earthen place of resolve, left to run.
Though he stays far away, I keep coming undone.
The chapters progressing, we go through stages,
Somehow growing in contrast, flipping one by one.
It wills itself to sit quietly, the love, then darts, steadfast,
Into and out of existence, always hidden and clear of the sun.
It proves to be, of sorts, the kind that lasts,
Alive in memories, imprinted in pasts, if not in reason.
If not in seasons, love reproduces, emanating in energies,
They were here, ready, before the matter had begun.
Time, unlike me, waiting patiently for the queries,
Heart drops, I am left to wade through sea-lengths of stun.
Waiting, frightened, cautious and calm, along the tree banks,
He, a maltreated night-fox. Me, a stilled Blue Heron.
We fight in states of confusion, war, with opposing strengths,
But with words to serve as my only weapons, I find none.
I need know, in order that I proceed with this decision,
What places, true-heart or trickery, the man comes from.
Is the approach, welcome, though sudden, with good intention,
Or partially masked and coated with anger and reproach?
Either love and peace, or sadness, has already won,
No discoveries, warm in my hands, until conversations encroach.
Is it love of wisdom, or love of oneself, which causes our elation?
These are my concerns, laid out before us in creation,
And from which I have no earthen place of resolve, left to run.
Tuesday, October 21
Half-Lit Heart
Earlier tonight, I stared into the sky.
Only half the moon shone bright.
Only half of it gleamed white.
I thought, perhaps it might actually be so small?
That it, perhaps had something to do with the fall?
Or is the remaining half tucked tight away, just out of sight?
Is that it? Is it tucked tight away, just for tonight?
The clouds hung impossibly low overhead,
So that upon only half of its face,
Was the light willing to shed.
It becomes so clear that what I have seen,
Is really only half of the thing.
Now I come to find, that I've had it all wrong!
I doubt that what I saw was a moon at all,
It was my heart all along.
Looking to the sky, wondering why it revealed
Only half of itself to mine eye.
I am left with no choice,
But to remove that which leaves me blind.
I must find the source.
I must sever it with due force.
Only half the moon shone bright.
Only half of it gleamed white.
I thought, perhaps it might actually be so small?
That it, perhaps had something to do with the fall?
Or is the remaining half tucked tight away, just out of sight?
Is that it? Is it tucked tight away, just for tonight?
The clouds hung impossibly low overhead,
So that upon only half of its face,
Was the light willing to shed.
It becomes so clear that what I have seen,
Is really only half of the thing.
Now I come to find, that I've had it all wrong!
I doubt that what I saw was a moon at all,
It was my heart all along.
Looking to the sky, wondering why it revealed
Only half of itself to mine eye.
I am left with no choice,
But to remove that which leaves me blind.
I must find the source.
I must sever it with due force.
Labels: On Conceptual Physical Entities
Saturday, October 18
Appleseed
O' friend of mine, you're always promising
Everything and nothing and anything
That comes to mind, with no concern
For whether they be truth or lies.
Somehow, deep inside of me,
Each promise sits just right, initially.
Like an anxious, sturdy appleseed,
Ready to mature, ripen and feed
Your lips happily.
But without hesitation, you bite right into me.
You lie to me. You lie to me!
What cruel, what wicked ways they are,
If you would only look and see!
My love keeps trying to grow for you.
Keeps struggling upward,
In hopes of a bit of light to accrue.
To such ascents, you often say "no,"
And that you like the window closed.
"It's cooler in here. Wait and you'll see."
I cannot fault you here, for I used to think so.
But you'd stunt me, a growing appleseed,
With no second thoughts, no need to redeem
Anything in which you find no meaning.
It's becoming more and more likely,
That you found me somewhere in the snow -
As I seem to be melted and fading,
All because of these misgivings
And you don't even seem to know.
The clock is telling me it's time for you to go,
Time for you to go and meet with Johnny.
Everything and nothing and anything
That comes to mind, with no concern
For whether they be truth or lies.
Somehow, deep inside of me,
Each promise sits just right, initially.
Like an anxious, sturdy appleseed,
Ready to mature, ripen and feed
Your lips happily.
But without hesitation, you bite right into me.
You lie to me. You lie to me!
What cruel, what wicked ways they are,
If you would only look and see!
My love keeps trying to grow for you.
Keeps struggling upward,
In hopes of a bit of light to accrue.
To such ascents, you often say "no,"
And that you like the window closed.
"It's cooler in here. Wait and you'll see."
I cannot fault you here, for I used to think so.
But you'd stunt me, a growing appleseed,
With no second thoughts, no need to redeem
Anything in which you find no meaning.
It's becoming more and more likely,
That you found me somewhere in the snow -
As I seem to be melted and fading,
All because of these misgivings
And you don't even seem to know.
The clock is telling me it's time for you to go,
Time for you to go and meet with Johnny.
Labels: On Stunted Friendships
Friday, October 17
Good Luck and Godspeed
Do you struggle friend?
Do you struggle?
I see that you're scared.
If it's any consolation,
Any consolation at all,
Know how I care.
Do you struggle friend?
Do you struggle?
You're walking away.
You're walking straight away.
With all of your courage,
And with your hope and dismay,
You're walking away.
From safety to danger,
Into treacherous lands.
Keep walking, I'll hold your hand.
For star-lit pathways, I'll pray,
As you're walking away.
I can see it now.
I can see it up ahead.
The woods are thick as a lion's main,
And the needle-pricked sky bleeds red.
I can see it up ahead.
Bold and terrible,
Just as you said.
I can see it up ahead.
Are you frightened friend?
Are you frightened?
There is warmth in the air.
It will help guide you there.
It will help.
Pick up your feet and be quick.
Be mighty and light and be slick.
Are you ready my friend?
Are you ready?
Go now! Go now!
Here I will wait at every hour's tick.
Good luck and Godspeed.
Here I will wait my friend.
Here I will wait as long as you need.
Labels: On Strength When We Are In Danger
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