Weaknesses and imperfections
Are part of your reflection.
They are vivid to your eyes
As you gaze into the mirror
That mostly tells you lies,
You keep telling yourself
"Someday someone will love me for my flaws"
Is that really what you're looking for?

You are already loved in spite of your errors,
Right from your mother's womb,
You were bestowed with a purpose,
You have the potential to turn
Imperfections into excellence.


It takes the humble and the meek
The scarred and the bruised
Not the perfect to lead.
Don't wait for someone to accept your flaws
But let your flaws push you
To where you want to go
Far beyond the edge of your comfort zone.

you can sing from the lower branches
but if you sing from the top of the tree
the sky will stretch eternal your song.

Sometimes
In healing ourselves
We end up
Making ourselves stronger
Than before

You'll have to forgive me;
I've begun to move slower
in my older age.
No longer am I filled with fire
and the willingness to set aflame
all that is around me.
Now I am of rumbling, slow-burning
coals,
the type of which men cast
swords passed down through the ages.
Love to me is no longer a
keen sting --
nor do I want it to be --
but instead it is a soft dedication
expressed through an intermittent presence,
not through flowery acts or syllables.
I do not move so fast now.

From twenty to twenty-four,
only four short and long years,
but much have they taught,
and much have I listened
and much have I not.
But I am more careful now
in the affairs of life and love.
Not so quick to destroy,
but much quicker to understand.
Most times,
but I'm still learning
slowly
that when you know anyone enough
you will reveal your humanity
and they, too, will reveal theirs.
And I would rather have mine understood
than judged
as would we all
so I take my time,
I do my best to understand
and not to judge.

Sometimes things take awhile,
so I move slowly these days.
Forgive me.

There's a ghost in the machine
A distant heartbeat
An echo
A recollection of tides pulled by the rhythm
Of the moon
A lunar cycle
Of leaves swirled
And now settled
By the whisper
Of the breeze
A message repeated
But not audibly heard
Remembered and understood.
You are in the right place
Where you need to be
All you need now
Is to breathe and be.

...........run long...
... seeming to end at one point,
........yet, in truth, they just go on
.............for, currents are ceaseless
.................they find their own paths
......................they symbolize continuity.
...........................r i v e r s .....r u n...l o n g....


(Harlon Rivers....you are your name)


Sally

Copyright August 30, 2017
rrab

It began as a singular vibration, a heart beat, a steady hum,
and carried through eons.
It was lifted on perfect Devonian wings,
and traveled along with the storms and the breezes.

Mesozoic raptors picked it up,
in bone chilling lashes and screeches.
Then, the songbirds found it,
along with the whales.
Through waves and wind,
this is our gift.

It traveled with the tides and through the air,
and found its way into Indus Valley flutes and strings,
praise to Gods and Goddesses, as it entered all living things.

While it passed as Sirens to Odysseus' wanting ears,
the ancient Celts danced,
their flutes haunted the wild moors...

And each Tribe carried it through prayers and hymns,
laments and dirges,
celebrations and lullabies,
and through love.

Each Tribe carries it still,
through love.

Our gift.