loves inspiration

Monday, February 22, 2010

truth is everywhere

i think my poetry is your cup of tea unsweetened and hot
if everyday i could but be this man on the mountain
i would grow wings of feathered fire
with worlds to find underneath my fingers
this treasure divine and flourishing from my uncertain husbandry
there are words never used but imprisoned in the soul
heartfelt rhymes and lost prose profound and buried
entombed with the soul of singers past and music sung unheard in memory
when quicken and flash surpass meaning and reflection
and love becomes times clockwork alarm
hold fast to the chains we release and fling glory to the season of the sun
we speak in tongues our fathers have forgetten and our mothers hide in golden lockets
where children grow inside their hearts
a flower wishing open starts
and why is this or how can that be what it doesnt understand
the world speaks, its hidden fires erupt and mountains explode and forests fall in the revelation of life
i practice silence so i can hear
the voices that are growing nearer to me from thee
in the beginning was the silence and the silver moonlight of space unborn
until the word was made form and the wisdom torn from the unbearable loneliness
there was love found rushing to fill the void between the dreamer and the dream
i live in your heart where the words are beating with the blood of your ascension
if this be divine madness then let insanity unhinge my mind
and heal my man made heart
for you the soul is dripping and the measure taken is undone
its all the one i am become from what we knew and what we've done
but there appears a second one newly come to feast and bring the signs long past
for in the secrets of the soul is the story told and told cross fires burning in the cold
where men divine the passages of times secret meaning
and reach through spaces unseen to dreams come revealed
each man is made with infinite care
unaware of the power to bring into this world the stones from the river of dreams
the truth of the crossing from where no man knows but every man travels
we are not lost or doomed but passing through a journey of experiences through senses unknown
from places that never were to thoughts that break the mind into pieces left behind each journey
but the truth is everywhere in every thing we see and feel and hope for
our wishes have the wings to carry us past the last walls of illusion and through the atmosphere of living passions
to the curtains that cover the back of the clock work universe of sinners and saviors alike
past the isles of the painted sky through the backstage of ropes and wires
in front of the lamplit platform we are born and die
yet somehow we are not
nor ever have been needed for this play of love and glory
but to take our rest and find sweet love to ease the journey
is the best that can be done
like peacocks strut the vanities of the mind
the insult of proposing the bragging of imposing
were there signs to warn and take heed
the words here written you must not read
for the words here wrought
can change stone to butterfly or not
even the sun can be cast into your eye
and emptiness becomes filled with lies
despair the meaning that hides within
each syllable is filled with sin
the thought that comes from reading this line
now must be god above instructing my work as divine
i shake to my heels with the possiblities of our collusion
if love were to be the rhyme for reason
then winter would be the growing season
ice so hot would freeze my toes and
and fire burn the sun from out of the sky
in his last act the playwright wrote his own demise
with such flourish and compassion
the crowd demanded a retraction
so with each encore he devised
a ressurection of many lives
and in the world past dreaming past living past the long river where none cam be retrieved
there is a master of souls
many masters of souls
each more terrible than the last
the eaters of souls ravaging the dead
their many painted arms holding worlds and weapons casting fire and destruction
each the master of all they can devour
and through this endless tunnel we are taken fearing our own self fate
until we come to the mirror of souls and the waterfall of life and see our own faces
most terrible and fightening staring back at us
and into the water we plunge again until we have no memory of the sight and are born to earthly light and safety of our mothers love
when we awaken, the pain we feel is our truth revealed, we are the very gods that devour us
are you having fun?
is this amusing you my love?
for my blood is spattered across the keyboard and my vital smeared across the screen of our communion
is there another word i have forgotten or a line you think is rotten
a verse not quite in rythm with the prose you think ive written
by jesus by buddha by the very god of the soul of the swamiji
i call my forces to me to my soul and satchel
fill this vessel with every sorrow i have not seen and let me dream again the words that lovers know
be still my heart in flight untiring in its race to your only love
for there is the kingdom and the power that no man can conquer
and there i rest in your sweet love divine
no drink nor food for my empty form
just love to fill my spirit and sleep to fill my dreams

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