Thoughts that cast their way,
Crossing the chasms between
Then and now...
Will at long last lay to rest
Upon the collectors’ brass tray.
Seemingly worth vast riches in good deeds.
Yet, in dearth of will, driven by past
regret
And whereas, vanquished verses weigh
Heavily in amassed rhyme -
The muse will last ‘ever time -
Between the chasms of then and now.
The black sign in white roman font
Read like a lone favored star,
“Last Oasis on the Toll’s Way”.
Counting the change on the loose
Holding out for salvation’s pay
And dreading a bankrupt soul.
The road cares for neither side
Poor and rich will pass this way
All the same; cold.
A beautiful old church stands firm
Over the ugly; the strong; the weak -
Her empty arms welcome all.
At the last oasis along the toll way.
Hold on to Daddy’s hand
Precious one in willowy stand -
For here we go
Down life’s path
Up and beyond
The mighty mountain’s face.
Hang on tight
Young son with busy might-
The ride will get us there
Eventually without a past;
Nor a present tense
to contain us in the race.
Don’t let go of your visions
Curious scholar with big reasons -
Learning will provide a lifetime
To gather stones and sticks
That will someday build a house
And that will keep you.
Embrace your family and friends -
Grasp, with both hands,
The ideas and notions of self
Close - very close in arms
For they all share glory and defeat
equally
And if not in life - then, certainly in death.
Master your desires
‘For they concur with perdition’s fires -
Control instincts to own & covet
They are both false and fatal
To the free spirit
Whose nature is naked and without root.
Surrender to the muse’s fire
Give in to the urgings of inspire
Release to the edge
And then jump unto the abyss -
Allow thyself to evolve
To nothingness; to everything.
Who dwells amongst the firmaments
Of gelid elysian ‘scapes of blue?
Golden touch rises and falls
Without term nor will-
While owning sovereignty
Yet and still another face
Worships passion’s rule
And in finality - ultimate demise.
Thrice I kept face that allowed
Death’s hand a new life.
Of Sappho – I love.
Infinite bed of black velvet
Frames the multitudes of sperm light
Twinkling with expanding desires
Focused upon the radiant primordial ovum
While the primal dancers idolize
The moonlight and the fire consummation.
The crystal angel who flew the heavens
Fell from grace to earth and broke to
shatters-
Shards and pieces scattered along the
garden’s path...
Whence came the young maiden with golden
hair
To find the splintered glass without form
or design
And only she could see the whole of the
true cast
of the fallen crystal angel and that his heart was hers...
She gathered all the glass and with years
of care and love
Created frame where each piece a
different hue
Shaping into a beautiful glass sculpture
Of stain glass colors that chime in the
breeze of life
With musical notes dancing into the
garden
And forever in revelry of a long life together.
