Yellow red and brown rainbows
glowing in porous wood.
Timeless, it Iingers, a reminder of another age; silent, empty, remembering.
Leaning forever, then finally falling; it’s last act,
returning light to the earth.
In the end it is not who we will love that is our choice, only whether or not we are willing.
In the end it is our acceptance or denial of what we are that defines our lives.
Even in denial, our bodies are etched, into images of our intentions.
In the end our bodies are maps, indelibly marked by the paths we have traveled;
our strengths and scars, historical documents,
marking our journeys through folly and fate.
In the end, as in the beginning, what is most precious is the presence of companions, and of certain love;
to ease our fears as we begin the journey into a world as yet unknown.
*Please give me your feedback on this edit so I know whether or not you think it’s an improvement, or takes something away from the original.
Violence is an odd thing,
so many who enact it
are certain they are victims.
Angry, they strike those
that they perceive have something,
something they deserve,
but is denied to them;
by those that judge them unworthy.
As if they had spoken of their needs,
as if Love was an obligation,
as if they were entitled,
but had been deliberately cheated.
They demand that we see them,
that we forgive their violence
knowing it was only a cry of pain
inflicted by our inattention.
I would have seen you gladly
had you been here,
had you been open,
had you dared to trust.
If only you had accepted
my need to do what felt true
without assuming that anything
I had not offered,
was a declaration of your inadequacy.
Perhaps if you had been courageous enough to feel,
opened your heart widely enough to notice your own beauty,
you would have come as a friend, rather then a thief;
contributed to what we could share,
rather than attempting to destroy all that you wanted, but imagined you had been denied.
Now that you have shaped your isolation and rage,
enacted it that you might see it,
named yourself anathema;
Now it is true, I will not save you,
nor carry your anger on my body or in my heart.
Know that having come to no harm,
in an instant you could.
I am the Owl and the wolf.
I see through your darkness,
guard you though you are unaware, and separate you from the pack until you are well.
I will oppose your violence
with eyes that know no fear,
with strength that has no end,
with love that knows your heart,
And holds your soul sacred.
In the end if you sicken beyond healing
I will give you a piece of my heart and the tears
that are the price of sending you home.
I feel at peace and yet,
Looking into my eyes I see
A well of bottomless grief.
Eyes empty as taxidermy,
Reflecting a moment
From long ago
That has lasted forever
Each heart, like every chrysalis, must break,
its transformation complete.
Like a field it must be harrowed, deep furrows in hard earth,
broken to embrace new growth.
Waiting, unsure, winter seared, until; Spring’s first warm days when all life stirring wakes.
I let the growing beauty guide my feet, and bearing water, sing my dreams to blooms.
Every scent and shade infused,
eyes opened by beauty’s silent roar.
Content in knowing, that when at last I fall, my gathered grace returns to fertile soil.
This, in truth, is love.
Life undefined by need, born of water, spirit, earth and Sun.
Through such as I is all great beauty bred; passed on to fragrant air the blessings pour
giving to they who pass of dying less, leaving for each who comes; of loving more.
Between recognition and the impulse to act, Like moonlight between clouds;
The illuminated space between recognition and response.
Before my certainty is tainted by doubt or my mind tries to force order,
Within the beauty of stillness and untainted perception,
Before judgement, contentment, or catastrophe;
a purity of presence, as yet un-circumscribed,
at rest, at one, again.
My heart, like every chrysalis, must break,
freeing new life its transformation done.
For, Like a field it must be harrowed bare,
the hard earth broken to embrace new growth.
Waiting, unsure, winter seared, until;
Spring’s first warm days when all life stirring wakes.
I let the growing beauty guide my feet,
and bearing water, sing my dreams to blooms;
of every scent and shade, infused with faith,
the certainty of beauty’s silent roar
Content in knowing, that when, at last I fall,
my gathered grace returns to fertile soil,
that this is love, life undefined by need,
born of water, spirit, earth, and Sun.
Through such as I is all great beauty bred;
passed on to fragrant air the blessings pour
to reap, from each who pass, of dying less,
and leave, for each to come, of loving more.
The joy of feeling, at last, joy
through a life’s work regained,
was shining in my eyes.
You touched them with your gaze,
warming in ancient remembrance.
I gently turned to leave alone
to spare the cost I would not pay,
But you were braver than you knew
and chased me when I tried escape
And heated me with honesty;
that I would give you more of life
than ever I might take away.
So simply was I undermined
my solitude revealed as fraud,
my trust returned in taunting lines,
that ran as tears along my face.
Despite the fact that you have fled
Across the land unto its end
When all you sought was granted you
And proved more than you expected.
I keep the gift you left with me
I need not ever choose between
the beauty of your company
And being true and truly me.
So lover let me call you friend.
I have had visions,
seen marvels and miracles,
even the descent of light.
I know the touch
of that song beyond beauty
that holds all things within Itself
and is itself within all things.
Perhaps it is these things,
and their effect upon me,
which brought you forth;
your spirit bright forever;
and In my love of you
an affirmation made flesh.
The beauty of a commitment
to life, to light, to timeless joy
living silently within us,
until awakening our acceptance
Love gifts the giver,
as all who comprehend,
and dare welcome delight.