I fade into the ocean and let the surf crash over me. I let my form become immersed in the salty spray. The tide pulls back leaving me drenched in the salty brine. I step slowly and steady myself for the next ****** of the water as it is halted by the breach of the shore. Slowly I make my way, little by little being washed clean by the tide. The ebb and flow of the sea comforts me as I am deafened to all of the outside noise of my life. Then on a quiet dune I sit in the fading sun as I watch the tide recede and I long to go with it so that I might escape the mundane and troubled life that weighs me down.

A woman lamenting the death of her child is a tragedy, a bride dancing at her wedding is joy. A mother giving birth is both at the same time. Life does not imitate art, life is art. Each picture is a moment of humanity. Each story needs to be told. To write another persons story is to speak volumes of the world outside of your own sphere of control. Without poetry, philosophy or stories written, we would lose our history and not know where we came from, who we are or what we can become.

A solemn Moon, a solitary tear
        amidst fire-fly flecks of stars,
        looked east to ink-blue light rising and spoke:

Sun, do not rise today
        for love is lost
        and your warmth will sear the tears on our face

Sun, do not rise today
        time is frozen
        in the moonlit shades of night

Sun, do not rise today
        light cannot lift this morn
        from its sorrow and lament

Sun, do not rise today
        leave us be
        let all be

Sun, do not move time on
        let us lay in lovers arms-unmoving
        seized eternal in this moment

Sun, do not rise today
        nor raise the voices of hope or joy
        for a child is gone, a mother stolen

Souls are shaken
        from their earthly care – born
        to the wind and flown

Sun, do not rise today
        your time will come
        when we may turn to you again

For warmth, for comfort
        for reprieve – but ‘til then
        do not cast our shadows long and drawn across the land

Sun, do not rise
        as we catch our trains
        and walk desolate to offices and schools

Let our tears fall ‘til faded,
        leaving just the stars
        to illuminate the night.

what song dear child do you identify with?

its a song of peace

from whence does your song come from?

the lips of a carpenter called Jesu.

when time collides with you
you begin to listen

within this listening, long enough
silence will allow you to enter

everything has its song
and you poet needs must sing it

not for nothing were you born
not for nothing do you listen.

The family is smiling on the dinner table.

This morn the hearse lifted the pall of hush
as white flowers rolled on wheels
lifting the spirit to heaven with the incense smoke
and the electric furnace like the magician
shrank the remaining kilos into neat pile of ashes
for the river to scatter to the sea of infinity
amid the silent prayer we're alive, long live the dead
the trudge back home where the count is one less
on the dinner table
mourning and celebrating.

you find yourself in a queue

and you do not ken how far you are from its front

but increasingly you feel departure coming closer

and with each insight the reality makes more sense

acceptance becomes gentle truth, and the truth sets you free, the truth gets you home.

A Paradox In Time

whispers....
There's a hint of solace in late Spring
Look deeper then ever before,
Shoes, gloves, hat

Torn illumination...
One will choose to walk down a different path
Darkened from loose fetters of Tumble ****
A light an occasional twist to its madness

eyes filled up with sadness after solemn years of remorse
Once you figure it all out you end up dying
The demons will have you if you give up hope
A challenge to be free is a question of time

Don't try to figure it all out you will go insane
Time will teach you of honest faith & morality if you receive it
Time can give each a unique purpose to live
Time tells of our past not to repeat the same mistakes in the future

Foreboding walkways
With weight of a million wreaths
Pulling in the walls