Feast

Feast of life does generate,

 the way to study time, and

 then to laugh and find escape,

 to sack the days not born.

The veins of soul lie empty,

 the Self no more than ghost,

torn the days of memory;

 heart’s engine, broke and lost.

 So do the years then gather,

 rejoice in all that’s been,

 call upon fate’s angels,

 to close the gaps between.

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YOU CAN LOSE PEOPLE

 

You can lose people you know.

Or they can lose you. It amounts

to the same thing – loss and a dis-

connection between you and them,

 

 

in ways never expected, never

imagined, never dreamed in the

deepest nightmare, never thought

possible, never considered, never,

 

 

never, never….. but it happens and

you realise, that somehow, in a

moment of endings and beginnings,

they are gone. They are lost to who

 

 

they were, and so lost to you, and

in that losing, that letting go, that

disconnecting, lies a new path to

your own becoming, and to theirs,

 

 

although now, the chances that

your paths will cross have become

less, at least until, you find them

again, or they find themselves,

 

 

which amounts to the same thing.

You can lose people you know.

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To search

To search within the almost seen, scramble in the mind,
to rummage through the coats of past, seeking so to find,
who I am and who I was and who I still might be;
so does love draw gentle hands across eternity.

Who was I then, who am I now, and who will I become,
so do the questions roll and taunt when certainty is gone,
and who I might have been, or could, has drifted on the wind;
so do potentials reach an end, before we can begin.

That morning when I woke in fear and huddled into Self,
as dreams and deep imaginings were tumbling from the shelf,
so then I saw in scattered wreck the tramplings of my heart;
and realised, that who I was, had never played a part.

And yet it had been written, this tortured, searching path,
which led from birth and on to death, as pure and soulful art,
for in the journey to become, to know and render true;
I learned the shape of  what was me, perceived, what was called you.

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Bliss

Bliss

In that milky pout of bubble,
which births from your tiny
lips, there rests a purity of
being; timeless, ancient, bliss
which resonates through
centuries as life’s perfect kiss;
where virgin beginning, lives
in fragile hope of tender years.
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Hesitate

Hammer at the feelings,
frame the thoughts denied,
dump the doubts and fears;
epic are the tides.

Rivers will keep flowing,
hours the list of days,
straight the moment calling;
protects you in all ways.

Sense the gusts of knowing,
hesitate no more,
let the fates do guidance;
abide by ancient law.

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Borders

The real borders exist in the mind,
and have no form in the material
world, but are more powerful, than
any fence or wall or gate might be,

for they enclose our thoughts, our
beliefs, our attitudes and often, our
feelings, in ways which prevent the
truth of connection; in ways which

hold us in place, defined, if not
imprisoned behind the edifice of
fear, which made boundaries so
necessary, in the first place, and

which, is always, through distant
night, and hovering day, working
artfully, to replace the mortar, make
stronger the defences, reinforce the

walls, which hold us in and others
out, those boundaries of heart and
mind, of soul and psyche; those
borders we have so carefully built,

where trailing leaves, seeking roots,
perfumed blossoms, call always
from the other side, just out of our
reach, and beyond limited vision.

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Lies

It was the first lie which led the way,
like an orange beacon on the hill of
deceit, beginning that march into evil,
which left love hanging on the broken

gate of betrayal, where more lies stood
as statues, carved in sad facts of denial,
and right, kneeled, whimpering in the
skirts of yesterday; adultery’s hood had

defined my truth, hidden your face in such
blackness, that no amount of torches could
ever bring enough light to bear upon what
now was an impossible, searing, darkness.

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