Happiness does not sit on the brow of a lover,
nor does it shine from the smile of a child.
It does not spring from the words of another,
nor dance on the tongues of persons entwined.
Instead it is something that comes not from seeking;
It comes from looking at your life as it is,
and accepting that the lot that you are living,
is what you define true happiness is.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:21 AM UTC
The pulpit stone was gray and warm,
beneath the priest of fire.
Each flaming word a dread alarm -
portentious and dire.
"Your ways must change!" he did extoll
with booming voice and spittle.
"Or hell will claim your timeless soul
to dance to Satan's Fiddle!"
Some people who, enfeared, did try
to mend their sinful ways.
With hope that cleaner souls would buy
more peace at End-of-Days.
But others left the place unmoved -
they stayed the way they were.
And though their ways did not improve,
to sin was still to err.
Then years did pass; the reverend died.
So too did all his people.
That pulpit where he stood with pride
lay crumbling 'neath the steeple.
Whatever thoughts of wrong or right
lie quiet like these motes in light.
No matter what the old man said,
your life's your life, and dead is dead.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
I am
the universe.
Unique and indivisible.
Focus on this, my inner truth.
Then, broaden bright consciousness
to subsume everything into this sphere
of most subtle and sublime reality.
Until a greater dawn reveals.
I am part of everything:
The universe
is me.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 8:47 AM UTC
O Moon in heaven gleaming,
thine argent visage beaming,
upon this dark land dreaming,
O quiet, vibrant light.
How bright thine silver face is;
how fair thy mystic shape is;
how maddening thy grace is!
I am fettered by thine sight.
What pleasure but to see thee;
and spy thine beauty nightly -
yet distance ever spite me
and darken my delight.
My soul is then left open;
my beating red heart broken
with unquenched pain unspoken
but for these verses that I write.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 8:12 AM UTC
Beneath a fading purple sky,
Papa sits here gazing high,
warmly smiling as I say
my name again to him today
though not an hour has since passed by.
Sunlight sinking, vision fails;
and selfless warmth now leaves the vales.
His voice which once was strong and pure,
staccatos now and speaks words fewer;
A phantom with a loved one's face.
And yet the words he finds to speak,
though murmuring voice is rasp and weak,
hold truths from many decades past,
told vividly with spirit vast;
nostalgia from a dear antique.
He dreams within a castle air,
with memory as the mason there.
He sometimes looks out past the vape
at shadows gathering there to gape,
but can't assail his foggy lair.
Inside, his vigor unbereft,
his chronicles are lined and kept
on shelves of moments come and gone;
and cherished loves long since passed on
within this dream have never left.
And there my papa wanders free -
his paradise of memory.
And though I dearly miss him so
when him to this silent fortress go,
the phantom there is I, not he.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
Fear the stillness whers't thou find
the dreary life and idle mind,
wherein thine own reflection lies
a baleful thing with glassy eyes.
Let horror of this fill thine heart,
to maul thy slothy core apart.
Ignite within thine blighted soul,
a fire that should cleanse it whole.
Let passion rouse it from thine state,
that thou shalt grasp the skeins of fate.
Thus boldly stride a person who,
was born, hath died, is born anew.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
The week's been long and draggin' on.
Our labour's been labourious.
Toilsome tasks have tarried on -
and their ceasing inglorious.
But surely as our souls are spent,
and stamina a-sundered.
the whittled work has come and went,
and out we've come from undered!
And thus, my friend, the week has past.
So here's a rousing raised-glass cheer -
that dreamt-of day descends at last:
Friday Friday, Friday's here!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC