In the lonely hours
they cry for their humanity.
For the lost past,
for the uncertain present
they wander lost.
Together,
alone.
Categories
Tag: Spirit
Categories
My Own Peace
Some days,
I take a deep breath
and ask the world to soften.
The world never does soften.
So I fall behind its wind,
and I find my own
peace.
Categories
Unravelled
Music brought me undone again, today.
Unravelled. Beautifully. Thoroughly.
And though it’s not a surprise that music can so easily undress my soul, it is often a surprise to feel the way it surges and dances through my body.
How it grabs hold of my belly, my arms, my legs, and drags itself upwards.
How it grounds me. So deeply, so powerfully I could never fly away.
I don’t know why this happens to me.
All I know is that it is profoundly beautiful.
And I’m grateful.
I’m really so far beyond grateful.
Categories
Sweet Aching Quiet
Sweet aching quiet.
Soft night, curled up beside me.
I know you.
I know your fragile whispers, well.
Categories
The Christmas Spirit
The Christmas spirit never dies.
The Christmas spirit is forever and always,
so why put it away?
Do we not become our best selves
whilst wrapped in the spirit of Christmas?
Me thinks we do.
And so it is
I ask again:
why do we put it away?
Why do we put
the love
away?
Categories
Sweet Eternity
Oh, the heat
that I see
that I feel
that I know.
I will be the flame
to my own fire.
I will light the path
of burning
sweet
eternity.
Categories
The Deep Of Me
You may name it what you will.
But the ocean will always smell like
what is beneath the name.
It will always look like
what is beneath the name.
And it will always feel like my very own soul,
(the underside of my name.)
You may name us both what you will.
But the ocean will always be beyond it all.
And so will the deep of me.
Living carefully and beautifully,
I know I am home.
Categories
We Are The Poets
We are the poets.
The ones who listen to the bones of the earth.
The ones who feel the wind,
who know the wind,
who are the wind.
The bridge to the aching quiet.
We build it
and we travel its winding path,
searching for more than what we see,
the poets.
We are the poets.
We are the song of aching life.
Categories
The Lonely Soul
The lonely soul
is a beauty.
She is quiet,
so quiet
as she whispers her way
through the noise,
through the dark,
through the rain.
Sing a sweet song to her.
Call to her
and she shall hand you
a soft and thoughtful dream.
