Unbound

Do not comfort me with your beliefs
Your self made prisons will never hold me
My wings were never made to be tied
If I can unbind you with my Love
I will surely try, and perhaps
We will fly free together – otherwise
I have gotten very good at goodbyes

angel bird

Hot Poker

I was jabbed as though by a hot poker
It sent my spirit flying so high up and
Left as though a corpse my body below
In a haze and daze I could not come down
All the while the world went on around my flesh
One percent of me present mostly unaware
I was led about by those around me
As though a dog muzzled and leashed
But up above in the cloud where I was
An unchanging was being done
That coffin a cocoon – death and rebirth
All worldly notions I had collected were as a mush in my mind
Like a hot soup they churned and spun and meshed
Each bit being unrecognizable from the next
Until it was all poured out – returning to its source
The earth below – into the heads of anyone who’d given it to me
And I watched intently at this happening – how happy they were to receive
The re-manifestations of what they had believed
Enlightened confirmation – it was as though
They be charmed by their very own manacles
Then I slowly descended on forgotten wings
Back upon a weakened pallored frame
Unclipped my leash – though grateful I be for the lead
And stepped back into my life as though reborn
Now the only question remained
“What do you want, Childe?”
Without the illusions of others muddying my vision
I can see again into that vast no-thing – My Being
Knowing now what I want – what I always wanted
To Love, To Flow, To Give, To Be
And I keep a white hot poker in my pocket – just in case.

The Gift of Compassion

He was like a fish gasping for air
and the fear on his face was imprinted
in my skull with all the other loathings
that he created in me – his broken
skin pocked and red – he picked
incessantly, those clotted napkins dotted
the floor like wayward children set astray.
And oh wasn’t that what we became?
Did he not bring out in each of us some hidden
doom we did not want to face? And all these
years later, here we were, thrust against the grain
once again – but lo we did not run.
Eye to eye we faced the misery,
that brown eyed fish and me,
as he groaned to rise, and fall, and rise
I caught him and allowed him to lean on me
as he dragged himself across the room, pants
falling and trapping him there on the stair,
and me calling to angels lest he fall backward
upon me, pinning me beneath his frail, sickly
shit stained self. And this is how it was, the
beauty and frailty of the dance we shared.
This was not the father, daughter dance I’d envisioned.
He was my greatest lesson on compassion, and
perhaps that was the most powerful gift he could bestow.