In the thickest silence


I sat amongst the trees that fell
soft and moving back into the earth
trod upon by faceless feet
the smell of damp and decay
filled my senses.
The light was dimming yet I was not done,
not with this moment
and not with the thoughts that I came to leave behind.
I stood, feeling each ache move through
and I smiled because I could
feel each ache and call it by name
from when the moment happened that
it became a part of me,
a tiny part of the whole that forms
this solid body,
and I blessed each area
beneath that setting sun and turned
slowly in a circle with arms high
praising the space I had found,
the moment when I could let go
and just be one
with the thickness of the silence.
A cracking sound above somewhere,
in the distance a falling branch
unseen
yet heard by ears that knew
this is how it would go
as the tree below under my weight
sunk further into its being
and became one with the dirt
where it had called itself home,
again to return
into the earth.
I leaned down and gathered the dying branch in my hand
as it crumbled into brown red pulp
moist and watched as the tiny bugs moved,
felt the coolness and lifted the mound
inhaling the life
teeming within.
This was the peace I had to find,
the growth and death of
each temporary thing surrounding me,
the part of me that I have become one with,
the element of this moment
here and now.

I had no photo, being techno free in the forest so leave you with my door greeting teacher of peace. Namaste my friends.

A thousand year death


Journey to my vision
Sleep dreams of particles
Gathering like dust at the edge
Gathering momentum to fall
A thousand-year death
Upon my soul.
How you hang like jewels encrusted
The midnight velvet of whispering thoughts
Ghosts of yesterday rise
To haunt the child alive
As flickering voices return
Their darkness of lies slip through
The haze of forgotten memory
The blistering pain
Of an eclipsed sun seen
On eyes closed to the truth
Pried open to bear witness
To this tiny speck
Of star-dust that fell
And became one with the soul
Opened to receive energy given
To become stronger through blindness
Of what is and what shall be.

Photo found on Pixabey

The winter of an old man


Then:
I remember the man in black
breath seemingly frozen
falling out in steam as you
came in the last time.
Rifle hung on shoulder
old and grey though still youthful,
and the words now lost
and really, it doesn’t matter anymore
because I watched as you turned
walking away
head bowed
defeated perhaps
but I was too young to know
what really goes on in the workings
of things between adults.
You had gone, not returning again.

Now:
I hold your Bible in my hands
older now in years than when you left
and I feel nothing as I page through,
gazing at images that you as a child
may have held in awe,
with your name in the cover
gifted to you from someone I do not know
and I have no use
for your pieces of history,
for your books holding your name
and I will throw it in the box
with the other useless things
left behind when you walked away
that still linger in the empty pool
of my thoughts of you.

Tomorrow:
New moon brings letting go of much
and I release you to the winds
that carried you away
and I set my mind on other things,
the things that remain,
the things that matter
and you are gone
and you are the leaf that fell
silently and unnoticed
in shades of brown and red
as blood that sits in air
too shall fade with time
as you have
in my mind.

This photo reminds me of my father who left when I was five. While cleaning out my books, I came across two of his bibles, one a childs edition. I was told by a customer at the garage sale that I should hang onto them. I found it a funny thing for someone to say who does not know me and I told her that they mean nothing to me. They still sit out in the barn waiting for disposition. I know the idea that blood is thicker than water but I do not always believe that. Choices made cannot be made undone 43 years later no matter if you want them to (which I don’t). I feel nothing really and the right was given up so long ago to lay claim to any piece of my heart. But coming across this photo, with the new moon at hand and the move to better places, thought it appropriate to let it go.

The dying season


Where the grass met the mound
thick clay dirt covering
cold below the warmth of sun
casting shadows
on life now gone.
Digging deep to place
the soul of season passed
winter to spring
and I feel alone
once again.
Daffodils fading placed upon
the thick stone covering open eyes
that no longer see
and I can still smell the essence
on my hands as I carried you,
your fragrance of sadness
of sickness and forever sleep,
or perhaps is it my fear
the scent of another goodbye.
The Jonquil grows higher
each passing day moves us
to sun rise and set
towards our calling to come
to be part of the earth
to be in the cycle
revolving around
to return once more.
Yet where the grass met the mound
like cracked earth exposed
I see your place
from here to second base
and your sister lies at first
and I stand here at home
watching the final run
as we tried to outrun the touch
the grasp of death,
sliding into the wet dirt tagged,
game over
and I am sadly
defeated.

Thoughts on losing two of my cat companions within a month of each other and seeing their stone resting place like a baseball game. Moxie on first, Meep on second and I have erased third just because home is where we all want to be and I am tired of this field.

On the edges of your horizon


I followed you silently
listening to your dream
Hearing your words of the vision
Seeing in my mind
Each description
And I followed behind you
Taking each step
Happy to see your smile
And you looked at me unsure
And I could only walk silently
Willingly.
I stood on the edge of your horizon
Like a prophet you lay before me
All you wanted
All you desired
And I could not see
What it was that you saw
But only emptiness
Through swimming eyes
drowning and unclear
In sorrow
For to realize
That I could never truly see
Through your eyes
But could only believe
And share your joy
For it was your journey
And not mine to be had,
I had my own visions
Life through illusions and truths
Of happiness and light
I had come through the dark
Of understanding
Of fact
That I must stand at my own edge
That I cannot carry weight
On wings that are meant for air
For thoughts that are meant
For me to truly soar.

Photo found at http://hermiona1988.deviantart.com/art/Edge-of-the-world-2-137683846