One Day

One day

I will write poems about butterflies

Even though it’s been done a million times

I’ll make it feel like the very first time

I’ll write about vibrant colors like indigo and mandarin

Wax on about hot chocolate with cinnamon

I will talk about bodies of water using

Delicious descriptions

(I’ll never call a brook babbling)

I will write like I’m high on Life’s Vibes

And be able to turn mundane things

Into fields of wild ecstacy, and purple poppies

And crème brulee

And you will never again call those things mundane

One day

I will glide through each moment in flowing step

Harmonizing my feet with the energy underneath

I will know I’m on my way to the grave

And it will just be another glorious day

Another birth but no longer a slave

Oh yes I will be completely free

And I will write of it in Hope’s great name

And that you might float along with me

Flowing down the brook that’s babbling…

Oops

Well….

One day…

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The Trickster

Oh, what a Mister —

The virile Twister

Spinning stories like the wise old Spinster

Who could play this game using any name

Cause that’s how it goes

When you invented the game

Though between you and me…?

He goes by The Trickster —

Ejaculating his Fabricating

On all your best reasoning

He flavors it with unbeatable seasoning

You won’t win his game of conniving treason-ing

The original Devil — a black-hat magician

His slight-of-hand steals cognition

No matter man, nor child

Nor politician

He’ll play you out for his own recognition

Your body his violin for sin

Your mind merely a token to win

And let me tell you

He always wins

He weaves through your very own mind

Using techniques you helped him find!

Unknowingly, the puppet — you hand over your strings

To the man with the horns ‘stead of the girl with the wings

And he plays you and he plays you –

And good God – how you sing!

‘Til slowly you learn – he will twist

Anything

There is only one way to steal back your cognition

Know when He’s talking and make it your mission

To discern Truth from Tricking

Then refuse…

To Listen

WHO YOU ARE

I am an Artist

I am a Poet

I am a Powerful Force

I have loved you

Since forever

I have abandoned you

Never

I live within you

Goddess and God

Masculine and Feminine

Merged into One Beautiful Whole

But do you see it? Do you know?

Nothing can harm you when you are connected to Me

From deepest pain to highest bliss

To the Calm in between

I am the Creative Divine

Let yourself live and you will find

That I, too, am Alive

You – yes YOU – came to be

Out of the Great Universal Me

Who begs Expression through the uniqueness of you

Letting My Hands move as yours do

Never underestimate the power of The Nameless

I have given it a name, in so many forms

When you wonder what my name is, Child…

It’s yours.

MIRROR

Inside the blue-gray bits of fragile, broken shell

Lies the Empty Space of something hatched

But where did it go?

What was it?

Is it safe?

Edges make jagged points too delicate to be taken seriously

Touching them would only crack them further

And they are cracked enough

Sitting desperately,

Open

Like sad little arms reaching up and out

Wishing those they carried would return to fill the Loneliness

But there is only me,

Staring

On the outside peering in

Wishing I could help ease their suffering

But then I think

These are merely shells…

What in me

Sees Such Things?