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Posts Tagged ‘poet’

Why don’t we try to more authentically be ourselves?

We can all burnout into the boredom and the oblivion of what is,

and,

we all will.

Like some star fading from the skylight that finds a new place

amongst the darkness of everything that surrounds it,

that which is separate becomes the new center

and, too, is the same.

We can all give into our own pains and lose our way

and trade in our momentary power for the familiarity of our past.

There are songs that play on the radio that we just don’t want to change.

We want to hold onto them.

We want to hold them dear.

And all the while we shame and silence our own fear.

But it is our fear that is our friend in the end.

It is that feeling that reaches out for us

with compassion and consistency

and calls us forward.

Fear rules our lives,

one way or another.

It is that lone light shining as a reminder of our own shore.

The shore that we will never reach but that we can always get closer to

if we do what is necessary.

So how much do we really change when we do so much to stay the same?

When we stop following our wisdom,

when we replace living with a routine?

I suppose we all rust in a way,

but strangely we seem to welcome this for some reason.

As if decaying is some kind of blessing that is earned

along the way,

throughout our years of cowardliness.

Why don’t we try to more authentically be ourselves?

I suppose fear is the best excuse we have for now.

Illusions and exclusions,

ill-thought feelings and excuses with anti-lock brakes.

Laziness is really just another word of patient morbidity.

Stop multiplying all of our own fears

and instead

ask them in for a cup of coffee

and a conversation,

and we may learn to love a part of ourselves

that we never gave ourselves the option to before.

This will transform you,

and me. Us,

and others –

even the world,

If we can stretch that feeling at the end of our fingertips out far enough

then there is really no limit to what we can do.

 

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This giving

is living all around us.

It grows like a breath

and breaks like a wave

that falls back

into itself.

All the harmonious notes of nature

feel warm and full

and circular in shape.

Their oneness dancing always as two.

Even in the deep, frozen seas

there is a warmth.

Like the sloping and sliding waves

that crash and crack before us

or this air that stretches at our bodies,

we are born and taught to take

but it is this giving

that is the stillness within the storm.

The life within the breath.

It is this giving

that is the circular beauty

to living

deeper.

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Your grassy meadow mouth

drops below the sea levels of sound

and all that is left

are your eyes

and my eyes seeing yours eyes.

And I see now

that there is a solace in being seen so strongly.

Clear and close.

Smiles sit behind you like flowers

nestled softly in a bed.

Everywhere are these smiles

hanging from faces

like lights on a Christmas tree.

Shimmering souls

all in the same place.

Sitting in body but shining in spirit.

For you. For me. For us.

For love.

And then I see your mouth

and that thing happens with your chin as you smile

and I remind myself to be present.

I remind myself that holding moments

is like a hand holding water.

You either lose it or

you just jump in and let it all surround you-

and you end up hold each other

because that’s the only way anything works

but especially water.

And love.

 

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The dim light in the night

realigns the way a mind

wants to remember a place.

The street slopes differently now

and the river seems wider.

The ground is wet, but not from a rain,

instead there is a faint dew

that lingers in the darkness

above the sidewalk.

And the air has changed completely,

like the opening of a refrigerator

after the dead sweat heat

of a long and lovely summer day.

 

The places we know best are the ones

that stay always like a stranger

somehow

and stand in front of us like a hollow tree,

faking at life

but making at something else.

Art? Maybe.

Or

something that none of us

quiet know about

yet.

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Memories and moments of magic

can be taken and shaken by the

pervasive powers of sadness.

There are no exceptions to this it seems.

The lingering ringing in my ears

from a spirit was so strong

went cold in an instant. Nearly forgotten.

Like some dusty old diary.

And all that was left was the sounds of

sirens and the frantic lights of an ambulance

in a hurry and a fury,

in the wee small hours of the morning.

Dreams die without life and love to meet them.

I suppose they are like children in that regard.

Families are broken by the pain of the past,

a pain they all choose to let remain.

Songs are silenced.

Blood betrayed.

In one night

I was swimming in the delight of my dreams,

tasting the fortune of all of my possible futures

to then be left

drowning in a darkness I didn’t create,

other than fate

had something else in store for my soul.

But ever so softly I could still hear

my ears ringing and that strong spirit singing

beyond the sadness,

calling me onward.

 

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In a dream I saw you

with your eyes sparkling like

all those endless,

bright blue stars above us.

You were the same

with your smile and your mascara.

You were the same

in your essence and your energy too,

and you ran into my arms

like a long lost friend

and we held each other

and whispered words so sweet and deep,

recounting our feelings of fondness.

 

We never did fall in love

the way we had hoped.

But all those feelings are still with us-

roses left on windshields

and our eyes telling everything.

Soon our embrace was complete

and I walked away from you

smiling

and thinking about the past

and how unique it is

that love never leaves us.

It is always available

and we are connected

forever through how we really,

truly feel.

 

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Sometimes

it is in a broken man

that the beauty of the world

beams most bright,

like some unavoidable ray of sunlight

bursting from behind the clouds.

Sometimes it is the late night, lonely guitar players

and the piss drunk homeless hounds

that howl at the moon

and make the music we need to hear most.

And when we do hear that music,

we cry tears that we have held back for lifetimes.

And even if it is only in a moment,

we let go of our pain and open up more

into ourselves.

Sometimes it is in our mourning that we learn to celebrate,

in our horrors that we find our strength,

in our losing that we find our own love.

Sometimes,

we have to dig deep into our own darkness

and sit with the discomfort like a long lost friend.

And sometimes,

it is in a broken man

that the beauty of the world

beams most bright.

 

 

 

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