stop banging the drums

searching for itself…the stars in ablack expansethat point the way…the sharpened bladein the woodcarver’s hand,i am only the log….the prow of the shipbursting thru the waves,the compass, andthe final destination!

or on the edge of the nest made of straw….pounding our chests, believing we can fly?do we stand on precept or illusion?are mountains then made of sand?and again chant the way of the gods,‘we feel with our thoughts,and think with our hands’….truth speaks in the unspoken,and liberty is but remembering…the best we can do a…

on the bridge to eternity…just the matchthat lights the lantern,just the wind carryingthe dust of truth…just the soft rain fallingin the darkness before the dawn,just the echo of the soundof your soul saying, ‘hello’…just the touch of a human hand,when you need it the most,just a passing smile,and the glint of the eyes…then, so be…

did the great wings of hungerscar the skies of your soulless darkness?is the screech of the owlhidden in your tight numbed lips?does the snail trail of my body,still cling to your need in the moonlight?must my fingers fumble with the latch,and my footprints haunt your sleeplessness?or am i just the tree that fellin the fury…

the hammered blade,some call it love.the bottomless well,cant drink enough….the blackened plow,the blood stained glove.the eyes of hunger,empty face of loss.the wheel of manturns despite the cost.when you’re lost at sea,and your ship is tossed.the eyes of hunger,empty face of loss.and still the takers taketill the blood is drawn.while the innocent prayin the dark before…

it is not the knowing,it is the questioning.it is not the finding,it is the seeking.it is not knowing God,it is knowing oneself.it is not the attainment,it is the giving…it is not the holy,it is a child’s dirty face.it is not the living,it is the dying….for in each tiny deatha new universe is born.