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Posts Tagged ‘poet’

All of this matter seems to matter more

than these moments built out of magic.

Embedded behind our open eyes

is a world wide web,

not connected through cords and cables

but our energy and our emotions.

Let the voice beneath our senses

inform us and guide us.

Let our knowing be led from a place

not built by hands but hearts.

Let our love drive our actions

and let us experience the magic

deep in the toes of our souls.

 

All this matter matters

more when you give yourself away.

The strength of your spirit rests

in the resilience of your faith.

You already know the truth.

You have always know it.

So much of your time

here

is just about

remembering and releasing

and resting in the warmth of your heart.

 

 

 

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Out on the plastic grass

I made my bed.

I set myself up with

stars and selves on shelves–

some needing dusting desperately.

Some changing shape

as I took them close.

As if my reaching hands were touching magic,

or even being magic.

My thoughts sparked in this flat space.

Music flooded from the house.

My mind its own mirrored wall,

radiating and remembering the signals.

I am told of things and listen,

while some make me let out in laughter.

It is through fire

that my fears are best burned.

Then my spirit can shine

in its own unique light.

 

Out on the plastic grass

I made a bed and I laid flat and I found the stars.

And I found mother nature too.

And in the eyes of all these people,

I found myself

constantly

becoming, anew.

 

 

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Who were we before this black screen bore its birth?

Before the crystallized asses and the political passes

settled in.

Before the highway lost it’s shape and the open road

of freedom was found with pudgy fingers and

minds melted in moments of escape.

Who were we back when?

When the trails were unpaved

and the maps were unfinished.

When our minds were curious

and our hearts hungry

for those big things in life

called love?

Who were we then?

And what now is left of our

beautifully broken dreams,

built on nothing?

What is left

for us

to mess up?

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Let us bring back the broken things

and mend our hands from the glass

cut curses of a past we can’t quite remember.

Let us quiet out the streets and the bed sheets

covered in our oil and sweat,

worn away by all the walking, and the talking, and the taking.

Let us be who we are now

by being who we were then;

a friend, a song, a drop of rain.

Let us clear out the closets

with the clutter and the dreams

given to us by strangers who never really cared at all.

Let us be free,

whatever that means.

It has always sounded like the closest thing to home I’ve ever heard.

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In whispered words

we heal the wounds

washed on the shores

of our hearts.

With a gentle touch

we feel the fears

left alone

to kill creation.

With soft eyes

we see the shame

we built when

we turned away.

In the sweet silence

we all know

what we must do

to be ourselves.

Let yourself be guided

by your senses,

let yourself trust and let go.

In this unfolding

is who you have always been

and who you’ve been chasing.

 

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Make up the shape up of a story sad and true,

tell yourself this loving is reason you are blue.

Give into the river that flows with ease and grace,

and let it all take and turn you like a shadow on your face.

This sunny, salty city has lined up its carpets for you,

and this rhythm deep inside is its song ringing through.

Between beauty and beyond is this place you have long chased,

as you search with such passion, remember life is not a race.

 

 

 

 

 

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As I sit here now

centered in my heart,

I can see

that love

moves like light.

All around us.

Invisible and

indisputable.

And presence

follows freely

as we learn to let go.

Perhaps as it’s said

there is no learning

in this life–

only a remembrance.

And it is in that

free fall

that we all begin to fly,

at home in our hearts.

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