Be the feeling
of an answer

not
the urgency
of a question

the pursuit
of life

thru thought
alone

is like following
a scent

to find
your nose

Is a
way back

to who
you
really are

the wave of thought calls life
to the memory of a body in heat yet to forgot
dis charges its stigmatic pulse across the
surface of inequity and settlement

we are the spoilt ones spelt in the river of renewal
repute and delivered to the lot of time
as purse of mercy be re acquainted to divine
and the lesser more offers soul in service off hand
to near the miss of a drawn out sand

as a picture of me in your mind

At first I could see
that felt like me
was the child with no eyes

at first I could hear
that smelt of me
was the throw of blindness

at first I could taste
that touched to me
was the food of imagination

we have not left of you
but the the wit of life
made way on the inner voice of silent speak
spoke as flesh into this resonant body
sung into being by the minds lament on the tongue of tongues

no other ye be born to here in the spin of eye
no sight no blood no life to gift
as that first dies in the living of creation
buried in the hopes of prophecy and self
scented oer the trunk of the open heart
on souls stay as gone isn't long now
and rich be's the fruit of fear
loved unto its truth