The Fire

 

I won’t talk about the fire
when I’m in it
rage, inferno
you. won’t. burn. Me.

I don’t focus on the fire
all consuming
to dust I turn
don’t. think. Me. dead.

I cannot run from the fire
steel is forged here
sharp, steady, blade
you. can’t. wield. Me.

 

I knew that it was Good

There came a day in my life when I realized that not all that I had seen was as it appeared. My vision of life was like broad strokes of paint on canvas – colors mixing together and creating shapes that held no purpose at all. Yet, they yielded beauty. It was a splendid mix of radiance and within those hues were entire spans of life, all being lived out harmoniously and with an order that I had not previously been cognizant of. Until suddenly, I was – I could see it All – every connection. It was like I was everything. I was every leaf and every tear and every cloud all at once. I could feel the heartbeat of every creature and every vertebra that moved and every wind that blew through leaves like the strumming of strings on some secret mystical instrument. And all I wanted, was to thank God. I wanted to yell it from the highest peak that I could climb, and then I realized – I Am the highest peak – I Am that I Am. And I heard God laugh in that moment. It was as if every laugh that I had ever heard and every voice I had ever listened to laughed in that laugh because All was God. And yet I was still Me – one small piece of God, finally realizing that I Am. And then We both laughed – the entire world laughed. And I picked up everything because it was mine – you see, being and having are the same thing, and so I walked through the doorway to All, and I became what I came here to become – this time around. And I wrote with a new passion and I filled pages and pages and volumes and volumes and my fingers were like lightning on the keys and it mattered not that no one ever read them. Because I was everyone, and I read every word that blazed upon the page. And it was enough that I alone knew that it was good.

Out~Pressing

Out~pressing my inner Being

Into reality, thus recreating

Myself moment by moment

Carefully choosing as I go

Just Who it is I want to Be

~~ If you spend solid time with yourself, and you study the directions that your world shaped personality takes you, you will see that you are not of your own making. Once you take responsibility for yourself, you can retrain yourself, and become what You desire, thus casting off your shabby man-made mantle, and shine in the Light of your own radiance. ❤

Who Wants To Be In Heaven?

I could make the poem perfect,
but why would I want to?
Would imperfect beings listen to a perfect anything?
Can such a thing exist on this plane and be noticed?
No. I speak of Imperfections. Of Fallibility.
Those are the things that speak to the soul!
This world is colored by its flaws,
yet how desperately we try to erase them,
when all else would merely be white.
And who could see a thing in that?

Dry Bones

It was in the Word that our demise was found
You were skill-less in your rant
Yet calculating in your approach
Regurgitated flittering bits of hate
Heralding in the empty love
You would lastly profess
It was in the swelling rage
That vision finally found Me
We had always been a dead thing
And I Am done reviving those dry bones

You have to touch the wound

Hurt them in the places that they hide.

All you have to do is see it.
See it and the proper words will flow.
See it and show them that it’s there.
See it and take away the shame.
All you have to do is see it.

But then – You have to touch the wound.