What is it to truly KNOW someone...
To be on their inside,
live through their thoughts,
feel their pain,
cry their tears,
see through their eyes,
reach for their goals,
understand their fears,
deal with their failures,
struggle with their doubts,
share in their love,
celebrate their achievements,
appreciate their tastes,
follow in their footsteps.
The sum total of these alone leave us
at best hoping to know ourselves,
and family as strangers most familiar.
It is time, what is it?
It's a distance measured,
a length of lesson,
a growth chart,
a slice of experience,
a testing ground,
a memory box,
a place marker,
a relative of our every position.
It is time, what is it?
a length of lesson,
a growth chart,
a slice of experience,
a testing ground,
a memory box,
a place marker,
a relative of our every position.
It is time, what is it?
The speed of this life
I just woke up this morning and looked out my window
to witness the rising of another day.
I stood there in awe as the sun raced across the sky
in an arch of golden-blue blur, without interruption, without conscience.
I just woke up this morning and opened my door
to feel the breeze upon my skin.
I stood there in silence as the crowd rushed by me
in a vapor-trail flash, without slowing, without noticing.
I just woke up this morning and laid back down to rest awhile from the speed of this life.
to witness the rising of another day.
I stood there in awe as the sun raced across the sky
in an arch of golden-blue blur, without interruption, without conscience.
I just woke up this morning and opened my door
to feel the breeze upon my skin.
I stood there in silence as the crowd rushed by me
in a vapor-trail flash, without slowing, without noticing.
I just woke up this morning and laid back down to rest awhile from the speed of this life.
As time is untrue...
Why does time speak these hours like words, the years forming sentences of a seeming truth, when my life's term is more often a momentary lie of constant changing?
And what for my understanding of this language with such a dialect of deceipt,
a forked tongue splitting the paths of my past and my future?
How real the signs read,
TIME passing, THEN is NOW, NOW was THEN,
and here I AM,
standing stopped forever at the crossroads,
searching the horizon for a landmark of truth and feeling time will not tell true.
And what for my understanding of this language with such a dialect of deceipt,
a forked tongue splitting the paths of my past and my future?
How real the signs read,
TIME passing, THEN is NOW, NOW was THEN,
and here I AM,
standing stopped forever at the crossroads,
searching the horizon for a landmark of truth and feeling time will not tell true.
What a difference of a day
What a difference of a day
When we will just allow,
Without the death of all the faith
That led us up to now.
What a change this passing speaks,
If we just listen to,
The truth of all it has to say,
Of all that time can do.
When we will just allow,
Without the death of all the faith
That led us up to now.
What a change this passing speaks,
If we just listen to,
The truth of all it has to say,
Of all that time can do.
This Lifetime Apart
This immaculate word conceived,
This still, tiny voice crying out,
This miracle of creation, creating,
Wondering,
Why,
How,
And where we might meet again.
This still, tiny voice crying out,
This miracle of creation, creating,
Wondering,
Why,
How,
And where we might meet again.
Dying, Learning
I was there, in the room, the dry stale rays of sunlight breaking through the threadbare shears, covering his draped and tired form, a crowd of familial strangers sharing in the silence of a soul-wrenching loss.
I saw their tear-streaked faces, felt the heaviness of their breath fall upon my damp clammy skin, my heart bleeding in a pool of collecting ache on the floor, my stomach sickening as I choked back emotion.
I watched his chest heave and fall, clinging to and letting go of life with every breath, I felt the spirit walking away.
I saw their tear-streaked faces, felt the heaviness of their breath fall upon my damp clammy skin, my heart bleeding in a pool of collecting ache on the floor, my stomach sickening as I choked back emotion.
I watched his chest heave and fall, clinging to and letting go of life with every breath, I felt the spirit walking away.
night magic
there’s magic in the late hours,
a returning to the dream from whence we came,
a remembering in the silence,
of truth,
of meaning,
of a world void of distance and time –
a returning to the dream from whence we came,
a remembering in the silence,
of truth,
of meaning,
of a world void of distance and time –
what beauty?
blank and empty,
early morning,
the fog still rolling about your head,
the canvas of the day before you –
what beauty will you make of it?
early morning,
the fog still rolling about your head,
the canvas of the day before you –
what beauty will you make of it?
Heartache
We climb mountains of hope,
trying to reach the pinnacle,
the realization of love,
of two become one.
We stretch our hearts to heights of promise,
waiting for the point,
the peak of love realized,
the first 'I Love You'.
And just at that sound,
just at that moment,
suddenly we find ourselves falling,
without a parachute,
without an idea of how steep,
or how deep or how long the feeling will last,
our soul praying for a soft landing.
trying to reach the pinnacle,
the realization of love,
of two become one.
We stretch our hearts to heights of promise,
waiting for the point,
the peak of love realized,
the first 'I Love You'.
And just at that sound,
just at that moment,
suddenly we find ourselves falling,
without a parachute,
without an idea of how steep,
or how deep or how long the feeling will last,
our soul praying for a soft landing.
Abuse
Held like a dagger’s point
Careful not to prick,
Ready to drop at the slightest twinge of pain,
The memory dangerous and daring.
If I look deep enough into the comfort
Of the blade’s polished reflection,
I can almost feel the warmth of the sunshine
Reaching out to me.
The desert of my history is barren,
The mirage on the horizon of my thinking
Seems a scorching recollection unbearable.
I wander, I search for love to quench my thirst, to cool this burning heart.
There is no one out here, I am all alone.
Careful not to prick,
Ready to drop at the slightest twinge of pain,
The memory dangerous and daring.
If I look deep enough into the comfort
Of the blade’s polished reflection,
I can almost feel the warmth of the sunshine
Reaching out to me.
The desert of my history is barren,
The mirage on the horizon of my thinking
Seems a scorching recollection unbearable.
I wander, I search for love to quench my thirst, to cool this burning heart.
There is no one out here, I am all alone.
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