they are mile markers,
paragraphs,
and small points of victory
grounded in nameless defeats!
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it is that which makes us human,
that makes us eternal.it is only through suffering,that we come to understand joy,a joy that is not limited bycircumstance!when we learn to let go of the thingsthat our selfish egos proclaim thatwe need… then these things quitowning us…. it is only then thatwe experience freedom!we build temples, mosques, and churches,make shrines, write holy books full…
i close my eyes and go back…
to the old oak tree in the clearing.where two bodies hung side by side;one young black man, local,one young jewish man,who came from the north to protest.both stripped naked, badly beaten,whose sins did they die for?black and white Jesus’s,neath a guilt ridden limb…whose crown of thorns?and who will roll away the stone?45 years later,a couple…
i have tried, especially in my later years,
more than i do, whose understanding isdeeper…people of diverse backgrounds, who holdstrong opinions… strongwilled people, whoare not afraid to speak and to stand…and i’ve worked hard on learning the artof listening… you’d be amazed what thereis to hear!especially old people, who’ve worked andstruggled for years, passionate people withdreams, hopes, and needs.what i write is a…
small minds, small dreams,
small thoughts, small answers,to questions not small!playing the race game,the salvation game,the mine and yours game,the right and wrong game.like cattle herdedunknowingly to slaughter.every body a ticket,to pay the fare.bigger picture, bigger concepts,bigger than i and me!bigger risk, bigger world,bigger choices, small victories.
i dreamed last night i was walking,
down a stony path in the pitch black darkness.we walked in silence… listening, just listening.the wind rustled the tree limbs, sighing…almost blowing out our lantern.the spirits of animals, trees, and even the stonesbeneath our feet…. testified!a great haunting wave of peace blanketed us…and i knew the path we were on to be the right one!
hands of coal,
eyes that play tricks,and ears that need help.pictures of memories hiddenbehind lips terse and still.stories wrapped in stories,no one listens to anymore.the ghosts of love walkingthe floors of an empty house…eat a little, stare out the window,read the obituaries just to seeif you’re there!