Bright and open to bold new worlds
Gold laden galaxies of glass, swirled
With emerald rings of the infinite
Darkness and unknowable wonders,
Gazing back, so beautifully intimate,
Calling through space and time,
viewing the universe reflected in hers
I know how to grab your attention,
but I'm not sure how to keep it,
so I'll keep this as shallow as I can before diving into the deep end.
I know how to bob and weave,
but I'm not sure what I believe in.
Something to do with the conservation of energy, I think;
expending it in a dream-like series of experiences before eventually going back to being a part of Everything.
I know how to cut a rug,
but . . . well actually I don't think I know what that means.
Hang on while I look it up:
"Twenty disco classics on one CD. Now there's music to cut a rug to."
Usage notes: also used in the form cut a mean rug ( to dance very well): "This flamenco dancer cuts a mean rug."
I want to feel the glory
of the thing that is breathing
Not to take for granted that
my heart continues to beat
rather I am waiting for the day
it will finally stop this pounding
I search for true cold to invade my bones
Or the joyous passion of true love’s heat
In the pit of my stomach, deep
that won’t let me sleep
If I could only ache of yearning
for connection with another’s eager skin
To smile when I feel goose bumps
rise on my pale uncovered skin
As the cold winter rains
soak through silk night clothes
Or morning Sun sending
its cosmic rays from space
To kiss my cave dwellers skin
with a touch of golden life
and a dream that there could be more
I want to comb the Sun’s blonde fire hair
Instead of only dreaming of the stars
That we are all stardust
We can breathe in magic of life
That I will one day be free
Of this life that requires so many
deep and sorrowful breaths
I can feel space and time
Collapsing into my ears
In vanilla bean notes, while
Chills prickle and climb up
My out-stretched arms
Wishing only to fly
And the fingers of vertigo
Hold me firmly by the waist
So I can almost see eternity
Beyond the naked stars
I imagine you sitting and playing the harp,
late in the evening, with your eyes closed.
The music just pouring out of you, in pure emotion,
until you quit with a gentle smile,
as if the weight of the world has been lifted.
And you retire for a peaceful sleep
on your bed made of angel feather pillows and poems.
Inspired by a musical friend who, in turn, inspires me.
Every year, I think that this may be
My last trip around the sun
That my impulsive Archer's heart
Would be finally pierced through
But for lack of the peaks and valleys
In a fruitless cycle once more
And ever year, I wish it again