Almost Made It

It’s like someone played the wrong chord on a vital organ… now I can hear the rising score morphin and taking over. Taking over the senses it connects to, it connects four because the clouded eyes behind these glasses are pourin.

Somewhere, in a garden hidden inside a forest, a flower falls…

A hitch in the step of sunrise, not strong enough to break into dawn, the darkness of the void is granted more time. Unintended benevolence, ignorant of what’s ahead of us, fishin for love with negligence, forfeiting our inheritance, trying to attain a better trust. Empty handed in the end, facial expression incredulous.

Like a roll of thunder, the flower crashes powerfully to the ground…

The bees lose passion for their honey… Badgers crawl from the cracks and crevices to lie dejectedly on the sand… the deer come down from the hills… Butterflies self identify with the cocoon… there are tear drops on the leaf tips. The dew of a morning that will either never come, or never cease. It’s only Tuesday, but the pews are already filled again. Completely unsure of what to pray, just aware that there’s a fresh crack inside and they don’t know how to fix it.

The broken flower rolls, idly, across the ground… slowly losing life yet captured in the twilight of ineffable beauty… there is no redemption in this- and even if there was, it’d be unnecessary.

Every petal isn’t meant to be saved.

The New Ones

The light dawns…

And dawn alights upon the dawn itself, piercing eager blue eyes.  Swirling in rich brown pupils.  Twinkling in the magic of green irises.  Shining is… a gift.

Presented as a peace offering from the universe to the planet earth.  A token of goodwill, and a promise for a better future during misfortune…

The sun is always shining behind the clouds.

And as it shines, it dials.  Tick, tock.  Dials the hotline for newborn purpose in newborn life- tick, tock.  Like the foamy crests of a rebellious ocean wave or the perpetual pull of quicksand under gravity, mankind is the force that won’t be tamed.  From infant to decrepit traveling the winding road from womb to tomb, this wild people can only be herded.

But these eyes do not know that.

Gently blinking, long lashes sinking into unwrinkled perfection softer than fresh grass wrapped in foam.  A wail of complaint, not against anybody in particular, but a desperate plea to return from the glory recently departed.  The internal burning of the soul for the embrace of Heaven begins with that first toxic breath of life support we call oxygen.

But if your eyes were once filled with the glory of God, and your lungs filled with the vigorous adoration of angels, how could you easily settle for mortal fate racing like a deer in the hills in the opposite direction?

The light dawns…

The dawn of light is for the new life.  The new rights, who knew right, and must provide new write.

Light is constant- even when eyes can only see the dark of the moon.

Seven pounds of flesh guarding one very precious will… The light dawns and all at once all is still…

The new ones just want to feel the warmth again.  Don’t force the butterfly before the cocoon, but rather give them a chance to experience love again.  Head to chest, body to heart, softly murmured promises that not even death can tear apart…

This is what the new ones know.

And as they old, they gold, so long as this newness is held close.

The dawn of the light…

Odd Anguish

The air palpitates with sorrow and the sky sniffles…
The trees attempt to remain upright
But the gusts of grief lay them low…
Ignorantly the people walk around…
Oblivious to the tears thinly veiled behind the clouds…
The atmosphere takes a shuddering breath
And the seas wave to the shore…
The clouds have lost their silver and are now lined with death
And the control that was, is, no more…
The rains fall.
One after the other.
Showers of pain cleanse the air…
The overflow of angst needing, but lacking urgent care…
No one looks after nature
No one takes the time to nurture
Life encompasses but excludes its most base element
Ignoring the greatest need, like denial of the pink elephant
And so – pain ensues
The earth becomes subdued
Lost in a muse
The agony builds until the tears can no longer stay veiled from view…
And the rains fall…
The rains fall…

**
~The Wordsmith

Trenches of the Psyche

The air warms and lifts…
The same air cools and drops in defeat…
When I think about it…
I realize the air is me…

Puffed up like a parachute…
Healing the sick like Theraflu…
But then the pin missiles strike…
And the truth is – I’m only a hot air balloon…

The waters are spread wide…
And it is the winds that turn the tide…
That reminds me that I have a spirit…
But the craziness of my mind would rather I not hear it…

How many licks to the center of a tootsie pop?
Could take seconds, minutes, or perhaps even days…
This life is such a rope, and I’m so tied up in knots…
My only prayer is that the good Lord would take me away.

~The Wordsmith