The art and the craft are one. The practioner, an Oracle, the Wizard of Words. Constructing spells, conjured in the sequential scribblings symbolic of sounds. Letters to words to sentences. And in so doing, transmits a magic, a beauty that is communicated and understood by the Soul. Anyone can write down words, but there is that certain intuitive dexterity required, to coordinate the Souls song, to bring something special, magic... not just for the exchange of information, but exchange of emotions. A giving of oneself. A True purpose... To be in service. To guide. These are magical beings, the Sages of the Pages, who Ive only recently rediscovered, after one of them, was right under my nose for so long... She brings pure Magic, she is pure Light,... You know... She is one of your Tribe, She is a Poet... I know this, because everything she did, was poetic. The way she moved, the way she Loved, was pure poetry.. and I interpreted it as Magic.. because thats what Poets are. Gifts of Light...

When you want to learn something,
Learn it all the way;
And if something is worth doing,
Do it in the best way;
It isn't enough for wishful thinking,
And not just enough to pray;
Believing should always come first,
faith and work is also the way;
If success is what you admire,
There is a huge price to pay;
There might be difficulties as you go on,
Be resilient come what may;
Practice always makes perfect,
Keep practicing everyday;
But remember not to start a thing,
And eventually end up halfway;
Do not feel too comfortable on top,
Learn something new each day;
The end of growth as we know it,
Is the beginning of decay;
Do not despise others as you grow,
You might need them someday;
if a relationship intends to pull you down,
Do not hesitate to breakaway;
Remember also the contributions of others,
And be willing to repay;
Also do not rely solely on others,
Try making your own headway;
There are many who have so done,
But were led astray;
As you spend your time working hard,
Reserve a little time to play;
So that you don't loose loved ones,
And leaving your mind in disarray;
So get on with what you ought to do,
There is no time to delay;
Because ideas left under utilized,
Can quietly slip away.

This is the tragedy you see,
he will never be
as I dream him to be
never feel the warmth that I do
never lie beside me
nor feel this closeness
in soul and body
for
he will never be
near to me, skin to skin
to radiate life within
when bodies blend
beyond barriers of being,
nor look me in the eyes
to seek this light
spreading with his touch.

It will never be you see,
for he sits on my throne
while I sit near his feet.
I look up for  light,
he never bends down
for he seeks not
what's unknown to him
a darkness that never broke.

It will never be
this new moon
will never be a full moon.
It will not be, not be
I wish I could believe
what reality is shouting at me
that hope has no life
in the futility of my pleas.

Your jeans are still there
Thrown over a chair
A reminder of you
I dare not move
I peek as I pass
Sneak a look at the past

Your jeans are still there
Thrown over my chair
A presence I feel
Filling my room
I stare at the pockets
That once held your hands

Your jeans are still there
Thrown over that chair
Proof you once were
A part of my space
I walk round them
Fearing their touch

Your jeans
Still there