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.

 

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.

Sequestered Sorrow

Today my heart was heavy and it ached
But I pushed it down and went on
Tomorrow that sorrow will show up in my body
And I will forget that I ever was sad
As I focus my attention on the manifested symptom
Never comprehending the source of the pain
And this is the way that we never do heal
As the body makes for a very fine scapegoat

~~ Your emotions are your compass. They are the means by which you steer yourself along the proper course of your life. But we’ve been conditioned to push them down in order to conform to social norms, and so it is that we, like cattle, are driven. Your bodily aches and pains are the brandings of this world in every place where you have denied Yourself.

My Loves; Where Have You Gone?

I see footprints still where non should be,
and voices leaving echoes in the air for
none but me. I can feel your touch from
days gone by; my heart still feels your laughter,
and your subtle cry. I have walked among the
ashes of my fleeting youth, and in those dying
embers I see fragments of a truth.

I have turned away in anger and dismay. I
have mourned my own hearts loss, and
felt the sting of your betray. I have walked
the darkness of my own guilt, and questioned
choices made in angers wake. I have felt
regret for those I’ve lost, and for those I’ve
chosen to forsake.

I feel these moments that hold you still,
though quiet you won’t be. I’ve suffered your
presence warm and subtle like a
passing summers breeze. Through angers
wake or sorrows pride in choices
right or wrong, yet even though you’ve
left this place, your shadows linger on!

Spirit of the Unheard

If you could see beneath the surface of the manifested hostility, you would find a deep pool of rage that has been contemptuously rising within the spirit of the unheard. There is nothing more dangerous than those who will not hear. They are bound to cause a fury that they are unwilling to take responsibility for, and in the aftermath, settle comfortably within the shelter of blame.

Creation

There is a silent place where all creation waits
And your desires are the keys that open those locked gates
In a world that hampers your creative power
Those dreams they’d crush and all your wants would sour
But you have a weapon if you would just believe
Not only the imaginative power to conceive
But the seed that lays dormant deep in your mind
If nursed with your faith than expression will find
That once in this world can’t be taken away
And all those who doubted will stand in dismay

Crossings

I have felt the mysteries of this age
As the world wanes and I move
Slowly towards some unmarked exit
I see many doors all around leading out
And people filing into lines at these crossings
I wonder to myself at the busyness of it
The time and preparation involved
The singing of hymns and memory of verse
I see the jovial content and gladness
Until another line is noticed
Then the pointing of fingers, the judgment
I stand so far removed from this it is
But a distant vision that I ponder
From where I Am – They do not see
That every door of every choice
Is but revolving – And Me
Finding humor in it All.

Who Holds the World in Place?

All these incarnates of GOD.

Who can see them
Are they not about me like gnarls
That grow and swell and push
Their way into the world

Who can hear them
As they sing their death songs
How fast it seems to approach
Yet it is not at all – this dying
And living are but ONE

Who can feel them
As they pulse and vibrate
Not knowing that it is WE
Who hold the world in place