Friday, June 22, 2012

I Am Here

And have been.
Though I don’t yet fully see,
Looking through blinds as eyes—
Pieces and impressions—
The trees only stand tall
Not standing as themselves,
The birds fly
Not dancing and singing their own.

As I come in full light
My sunset is slowly coming,
White becoming color, successive
Distinctions that reveal uniqueness,
Similarity and kinship,
Until in darkness we share
The hope of another dawn.

A morning where new eyes see the being
Of all things and feet that lift
A knowing body to walk
In the path of metanoia, deeds done
By relationship to keep all aright,
A life long-lived to find another
And be in the presence of eyes that see all,
A unity of vision that set the universe,
The moving of our small sphere for its sanctity. 

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Morning Eyes Cry

The heaviest tears.
I’ll never know what was me
Or what I handed over.
Though I continue to work
My mind is out to sea
With the last of my childhood smiles.

Do I shout or run
Or for forgiveness pray?
Age old promises broken in seconds
Leave the deepest wounds.
Once the purpose is unmade
Is it just a ring?

Having left the high road
Do things become easier?
Am I free? Once you die,
You realize just how easy it is
And how complicated the price can be.

Monday, June 18, 2012

I’m Happy Until I Remember.

The smile leaves my face
From the quiet breakfast table,
Bacon in the light of dawn.

With on my face a soft ray 
I still feel your lips
And phantom limbs,
The weight of a body long overdue.
Though I lost myself
You stick around;
Your breath is at my shoulder,
Body’s smell in my shirt.

After a sleepless night
You are more inescapable.
I raise the knife to cut
One last piece
So myself I may excuse.

I look into the dark
Below the light
Without seeing, knowing what’s there,
It’s moving so fast that
I don’t understand at all.

The life I leave behind
Can not guard my steps ahead.
Fingers on buttons
Turning up the volume
That will never be loud enough
To forget for one moment
The morning that I died.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

On the Purple Ridge

Sits sight of eyes
Wondering how long
How much until
The glass in the left hand will turn dry
And the flood in the mind subside.

Feelings colder than the frost
Around the door’s framing,
The view contains all the insight this man can see.
He hopes emptying a bottle
Will get him over that mountain
So the sun has yet to set.

A heart seeking courage just needs
Some fuel to get there,
An award of triumph awaiting
The man who can keep his
Hands straight and his eye on the goal,
Even if through glass.