the peace that is found within
thanksgiving
relieves the heart of anger
and pain-
as quietly as the wind blows
through leaves
one’s breath, exhaling thanks,
is all the moment you need
let go and let the flow of life,
the knowing of silence,
the silent moment,
release you
Tag: poetry
nature’s beauty
there’s a dead leaf
that hangs onto this summer
plant;
brown and wilted
it clings
in contrast to the red and pink
flowers growing near-
yet still, through this
transparent death
soft wind quietly blows…
and with rays of sunlight
it dances and glows
how wondrous a transition!
even in death, nature’s
beauty grows
sorry i am
i could tell you again
how sorry i am
for the demons that still
walk my dreams
and line my head…
i could tell you again
that you’re not to blame
for all of this
heartache…
that broken pieces of the vase
in which i store my soul
are lying at my feet-
and when you step-
you cut
and bleed…
i could tell you again that i am sorry
for it all….
but i don’t think you can hear me
anymore
eclipse the day
daylight is brewing
and the sound of busy
birds fill my head with pretty
tunes
they have been singing
for hours now
as i’ve laid in bed-
alone with this anger,
my heart
and my head-
it’s raging through, lashing
and scratching
so appalling, alas though,
what else what can i do?
i’ve sat with this pain for so long now
i’m drowning in the darkness
of this horrid state…
trapped, i wait for the sunlight
to remind me that i’m awake
and okay…
how does one keep going-
when anger-so strongly- can eclipse
the day?
silence
the breathe of life that
so smoothly glided from
your tongue to my heart
filled darkness with splashes
of light… vibrant colors
washed away these lines
of gray
and though the words you
spoke were also touched
with pain
i licked them all up with a fervency
matched only by the despair
of loneliness left by
the silence of your leaving
spots of time
lost to words that dangle
in the air around my eyes
i pull them one by one
down from the ether
and decide how they fit
together
this puzzle of poetry that haunts
my dreams with color and sound,
defining feeling and thought…
how can these hanging words
understand the utterances
of my heart?
oh wordsworth and your spots of time!
would that I also get trapped within
my own reveries under the
sycamore tree of art! i would lose
myself forever
this wondrous bellow of love
and pain…
of darkness and suffering;
how is this human condition
so clearly marked by a universal
language lingering in the sky?
within my heart
i dug a hole…
the soil was so dark and wet
and i could smell the damp earth
as it clung to my fingers, my clothes
my knees…
perhaps someday, I might lie down
inside this muddy hole and let
the world drift by… though i hold no false
hope that i might find peace
should endings be that easy! i could
simply drift into the rain swept sky
releasing myself into the arms of
my own eternity!
alas, i remain here still, covered now
in this musty earth, listening to the slow
drip of time echo within the walls of this hole
that lingers so within my heart
the fool
there was nothing there for me
when i looked into that
grand expanse
it was all just noise
and though i longed for some
great sage advice
that might lead me perhaps
to that which i seek
i sit in disappointment
because the darkness i so
wished to confront
was but my own echo
back at me
the frailty of life! what can release
the dull ache that lies just beneath
this exterior of cool?
perhaps it’s all just a fake
and I am the ultimate fool
mighty river’s flow
the tickling of rain, falling
against window glass lines my view
with streaks of fractured light
and broken sound…
the quiet death of suicidal
drops, colliding against clear
but solid- illusion…
how I feel for these lovingly mistaken
falling children of the clouds
oh that they should suffer
at my windowpane
without knowledge of the mistake
they are making in their falling…
and to see the love
my heart holds for you yet the same!
and decide rather to fall through trees
instead onto pane…
so that I might turn from that
which mirrors my descent and land
instead into the mighty river’s flow
vile hold
darkened squalor-
criss crossed and dirty;
these walls are lined
with your filth,
with your hatred and pain…
what can cure a heart of such
wretchedness-
of such unsanitary condition-
when you locked the door so long ago
and ate the key in your selfishness?
now bloated and rotting this chest
of mine waits for some divine
locksmith to find me
hiding within the stench
of your hatred
to release the vile hold
your disease has had over me
the SIBYL'S SONG 