struck dumb with awe
by the smallest of things!
i have stood on the shore,
and felt the pull of the waves,
feeling both tiny and large beyond definition.
all my time my eyes upon the lighthouse,
strong whether there be storm or calm…
am i here or am i there?
i do not think it matters!
i have spent my time here
as a wonder filled child…
i would have it no other way!
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walking into death…
learning to let go!we spend our livesin front of the easel…and now the paint begins to dry.at best, our dyingis the culmination of,the fulfillment of destiny,perhaps…it finalizes the giving,leaving the perfume of identityhanging in the air.we make love on a bed of pine needles,small impressions on the ground.the earth turns, the tides return,the fires gone…
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every breath of air.every blade of grass….every cloud driftingacross the blue sky.every baby born….every child growing to adult….every hand put to the plow,every face staring out the window.every heart that opens the door.every whisper and groan….every kiss, every touch….every friend that stands beside.every moment given,every moment lived….miracle, and fire!
if i could find
i’d send you all the thingsi’ve seen, i’ve felt, and i’ve known…all the tiny wonders,all the precious moments,all the touching, crying, kissing,holding and believing…all the joy, sadness, struggle,miracles, and weeping…all the raw beauty,all the truth and dignity,all the hopes of freedom…wrapped in a cardboard boxcovered with many colored paper,tied up with ribbons of soul…postage paid…
blue lights in the parking lot,
on rain swept streets….ghosts march in pedantic rhythm,in the land of ‘no touch, no feel’….the gas pumps beeping,always beeping…. shadowsfeed shadows… a stray dogdead on the side of the road….‘can you spare a coupla dollars? ‘….heads turn, and walk away….a young couple walking the tracks….going nowhere, hand in hand.you can smell the vacant buildings,can hear…
the hand that
and struck anotherman down…the hand that stolethe money to feedhis family that was hungry….the hand that wrote angry words,threw a stone through the window.the hand that shut the door,leaving the stranger outside…the hand that toredown all that it had built,feeling the rage of alone….the hand that pulled the trigger,pushed the button,rang the register…..the hand that…
one who never thinks of suicide
one who never dreams he’s in prison,has never been poor!for me, i spend my timewith spiders and bats…and i never close my eyeswhen i’m sleeping!god never painted the wheels,on the wagon that hauls away souls.perhaps those who are good,never knew the value of sin.if then i come again,in whatever face, whatever shoes…remember the scent of…