I hear her
speak, her
words, fall
through me,
to land
soundly,
on the singing
land that
is my heart,
as she says
the words,
the blessed
words,
"I love you"

My heart,
it strained,
tears ran,
welling
from my
lids, to
track their
way,
down the
lines of my
face.

Of the
affairs of
my love,

Ashes and Dust...

Love,

a childs sigh, soft in innocence.
the sun on the heads of the lilies
in the field, the wind in the trees.

Joy,

laughter, high in the morning, low
in the evening. Her hair in the sunset,
ablaze with reflected glory, her eyes,
shining in the light of suns dying; mien
of angels.

Sorrow,

sobs in the stillness of the deepest
night. eyes red rimmed in the
morning light. the sound of a lock
softly clicking; tears on the threshold.

I am young. My mind some say, is old,
and I feel the need to stop the striving,
the searching, the trying to sculpt and
craft words into something high and
wonderful. Simple, I think, is best, now,
when all my pride has been laid low, and my
Soul has been touched by the simple words of
Love and Life, spoken and written, words to
touch the heart.

I stand alone, feet bare, at precipices' edge.
I feel the wind, a gentle embrace, breathy,
Infinite caress, enveloping my soul in the
Eternity of acceptance. Irises shut, against
the gentle piercing of dawns red-gold,
tender radiance, I gaze into the
kaleidoscopic configurations of Eternity,
and see all, in dazzling brightness.

the winds caress comes now, softly, soft,
as the reverent touchings of the Lovers,
gentle in their adoration, lost in their worship,
of love, of life, of each other..

I inhale, slowly, the air warm and strange,
and infinitely tender, alive in itself,
and in its love of everything, of the world,
and of the multicolored ecstasies' of
Eternity...

I breathe, and, slowly, I grow, expanding
outwards, encompassing everything, and
inwards, becoming nothing...and I discover
the learnings of my secret heart..

I breathe...and I release, everything..
softly, I dissipate, my body released,
become one with the world; with the air,
with the stone, with earth, with life,
with love...

I remain there, awhile longer, existing in
peace, and in the love of spirit...I breathe,
deeply, once.  I open my eyes...and see
my face, there before me, smiling, out of
a cracked, and broken mirror; and there
is the light of Eternity in my skin, in my
smile...and there is everything and
nothing, in the Eternity of my eyes.

I sleep, in jeweled fragments,
alone, but for the
whispers of my soul.

They speak to me of
love, of loss, of
sorrow, and of the
peril of joy,
unchecked.

They speak to me
of beginnings,
and of endings,
of discovery,
and of peace.

They speak to me
of the promise of
the morning,
of absence,
and of silence.

They speak of love...
of love, and
of joys
beginning,
anew
in my heart.

They speak to me
of many things,
of many things,
and one: and
that, to let go
my heart,
to let go my love,
and all its promise..
to let go,
and begin the search
once more.

I wonder, dreaming, lost in the
twist, in the curve of the road,
in the arching endlessness of
times eternity, and we trapped
just a little behind the center,
able to glance before, but not
beyond; I wonder then, when
lost in sleep, what peace may
I find, in living life, what joy
among such twisted lies.
I think of the lily, of the holly
tree, of Christmases, and
laughter free, but ever after
thinking thus, my thoughts
turn always to the empty
dark, to the thorn, to the
adder, to the darker parts.
What joy for me, when cursed
to think, to wander in
places cold and bleak,
led, abandoned, my nature
conflicted, I yearn for the
light, I lust for the dark.
I wonder now, thinking so,
what use there be in striving
so, in knowledge that mine
is a lesser struggle, a paltry
thing, devoid of sorrow;
and yet I feel it, through
and through, I rage at the
dark, I weep at the light,
petulant, true, as a child
grown fat, grown full
in the luxury of an easy
life.

What use, you say?
Why simply this, that
life is short, yet mine new
begun, and though short
it be, yet long mayhap,
I may run in the grass,
and forget my sorrow;
or if, indeed, my life is
marked, my fate be cast
for a darker lot, a shadowed
play, a twisted plot, then
hope there is, if hope it
be, that sorrows
undreamed of may yet
find me, and I may then
in bitter relief, say then
in truth: That though
mine before was an
easy life, a spring devoid
of pain, of strife, that
now at last I have joined
the ranks, of those
who have drunk of
the vinegar of life, and
found it bitter, to the
very dregs.

Life,
fled from you.
Death ousted you,
Driven you from the the
temple of the flesh which was
yours. Spirit flown, you lie there still,
unknowing of the tears all around you, as
they cede you to the grave, and so to death and
memory. And yet on your face a peace resides, profound
in its quiet repose, a sign perhaps from beyond the grave, that
you have found peace at the end.

Goodbye, Grandfather,

Rest in peace.

I look at her face, and smile, and warmth
swells in my chest as I see her smile in turn.
Age has dulled her blazing beauty, and lies
on her now like a mantle of lead, bending her
back, arresting her tread. And yet our love has
grown, not withered, and our hearts speak truly to
one another, for we are joined, in heart and mind,
and we care for each other, more than we do
ourselves. As the years have passed, our forms
have withered, have become vessels of the most fragile
glass, through which the light of ours souls burn as stars
in the infinite heavens, and our souls communicate, one
with the other, for there is no boundary, no obstacle left,
so far down the road. We speak little, for our actions speak
more clearly than words, and when we do, we seek only to
confirm our love and our trust, unnecessarily, for we are one,
and forever will be, in this life, and beyond, together, for all
eternity.

The waves lapped the shore
of those gently rolling hills
of sand, stretching out to the
far horizon. Gulls circled,
high above me, their plaintive
calls reflective, of the grey of
the morning, and the grey of
my heart.

The flowers are swaying, deep in
the hollows of the vale, violet in the
shades of twilight. I sit against a boulder,
there in the center, etched with the marks
of an age forgotten, and think.

A world teeming, cities filled with the
foolish and the wayward, men laid low,
by the seductions of corruption; and am I
not the worst among them? I am halved, I say,
split in twain, divided between the pure and
the putrescent, the wholesome and the foul.

I had lost faith. Life a blur of conflicting desire,
weary I fell, desiring only nothing.
Death touched me.

I was flying....

I saw my life, terror, rage, sorrow, confusion, pain.
All roiling and screaming and laughing. But amid
the turmoil, small and quiet, a small center of peace
resided, oblivious to the darkness, and within were the
seeds of joy and happiness, peace and silence.

Rest.

I saw, and in the realization, I fell.
I awoke in darkness, but I could see the
light. It led me here.

Here to ponder, and to heal.

And to remember.

Life, the state of living.

Survival, the act of continuing the state of life.

To live, to be whole, to be happy, to bring joy to others.

To survive, to continue the state of life, with no regard for any but oneself.

Consider which one should choose.

I wander, lost. Am I a spirit,
to wander so, sad and lonely,
cut off from the roiling, chaotic,
masses of humanity, and set to
wander, adrift in a brilliant sea,
vivid colors clashing always,
with the ever present void of
Infinity?

Oh! Here in my
heart, in my
heart of hearts,
is the name of my love,
my love.

Oh! Here in the
cleft, in the
deepest of deep
places, sheltered
from the wind,
and the sun,
and the sea,
is the name of my love,
my love.

There, my love
in my heart of hearts,
in the dark
of my fear,
and my sorrow,
and regret,
within me forever;
comfort and
solace.

In the fires of
my heart, in the
rivers of my blood,
as life, as the life
of the land, is my love,
my love.

And on my lips,
on the wings of
my breath, is her
name, my love.

In the times
of my gladness,
in the gladness
of my soul,
when my skin
trembles with
the spirit and
sensation, then
am I the gladder,
far more than
any man,
than any at all
in the telling of
this earth,
for I know what
it is to hold
love in my heart.

Yes I know
what it is
to hold love
in my heart.

And I hold you
in my heart,
in my heart,
in my heart.

Oh I tell you
love, you who
dwell within me,
in my breath
as the lands breath,
in my bones
as the lands bones.

If that time too
should come,
if that most blessed
time should
come in its time,
in its time that is
its own time,
and our lips meet,
seed and seeds
desire, there
after long yearning;
after the longest
of long yearnings.

Oh, I know not
what I'd do,
oh my love,
oh my love.

Oh, to know
what I'd do,
oh my love,
oh my love.

But I think that
I'd burst, oh
my love,
my love.

As the dam in
the springtime,
my love,
my love.

But to feel your
touch, your touch
that burns, and
to drink your eyes,
as the pine and
hearthlight,
to know of your
scent, that of
all others is
your own,
and to breathe your
breath, as one,
as one.

To breathe of your
breath, as one,
as one.

Oh for this
do I yearn,
oh my love,
oh my love.

And for this
I'd yet yearn,
oh my love,
my love.

though I withered
in the blaze, oh
my love,
my love.

For in my heart,
in my deepest
heart, yea, in the
deepest of deep
places, there you
are, my love,
and your name is on
the point of my
lips, to fly,
to fly.

To fly as the eagle
flies, swiftly and
with great soaring.

It is you and none
other that I love,
I love.

And in these words
do I tell it, my love,
my love.

Though they fall
unanswered, my love,
my love.

Here is my cry.

Here is my cry.

An Angel soaring, flying,
purpose divine lights his eyes.
Glowing, full of Holy Purpose,
wings spread, black and white,
he flies, black hair streaming,
pale face glowing, eyes alight
with the power of the Almighty,
God, who sits in Heaven, and so
watches over his faithful, men
and women who have taken into
their hearts the glory, light, and
love, that is He.

An Angel soars, coming to Earth,
Gods purest creation, landing, grassy
knoll alive with his touch, presence
spreading, flowing, the flowers raise
their heads, the leaves unfurl, to the
light and glory of the presence of
God, his might and glory flowing
from the Angel and out, Life and Light
pouring out, Gods first creation, testament
and reminder, to the power and glory of
God.

And the waters flowing, pure, cleansed of
taint, and vile substance, flow on, bringing
a tide of Life, rejuvenating flow, power springing
from the smallest finger of the Hand of God.

The Angel bows, the light recedes, night returns,
stars shining, their light beacons, white fire, to light
the dark vaults of Heaven.

And then, in a great surge of power and holy light,
he is gone, gone back to his Fathers Halls in the
Eternal Paradise of Light and Love that is Heaven.

The flowers bow their heads in sleep, the leaves
close upon their limbs, the quiet of night once
again envelops the sleeping world, and wraps all
in a soft shroud of darkness.

There is the smell of Jasmine in the air, the
leaves sigh on the standing trees, a night wind
to stir the air, the scent of salt upon its wings,
an ocean tang, exotic, and yet familiar, as a
dreamer encounters substance of a half
remembered dream, vivid in the waking world,
and wonders, at this feeling, sublime in its
familiarity, wonderful, in its quality of exotic
strangeness, the substance of dream
intruding on the daylight world, subtle and
yet bold, a seeming figment of the
sleeping mind, made real, in the light of day.

And so this dream, wonderful, in its glory
and light, may intrude in subtle ways into
the internal fabric of your everyday life,
reminder of the glory and power and light
and love, of the Almighty, eternal in his
undying light.

It has been said, by some,
by many, that in time the
hopes and dreams, the
pain, all cheap and chil-
dish loves, the aches of
their passing,

all will fade,
and become but photographs,
blurred memories, last,
of a bygone age,
remnants to be lost,
and forgotten, in
the passing of
Time.

Perhaps this is so.
But if truly there be
a thing called end,
a time called respite,
called peace...these
are to my mind more
to the like of fantasy,
of that which occurs in
others, and never in
oneself, than not.

But I will not give up my
Hope, nor lose utterly
that dream of Emptiness,
that Vision of Peace, held so,
there, in my heart.

For truth, in all times,
and for forever,
all hope is dream,
and all dream
possesses the power
to be called reality.