I got a late call
Just the other day --
    Sister reluctant to say
  What she had to say.

Mama's not well
     She almost passed through
    The veil --
A life of hard work
    Can make any strong
Woman frail.

I'm not an old man
     But time isn't always kind --
Teenage children
Make youth that much harder
                      To find.

It doesn't seem so long ago
               When I was that
        Young and free --
My parents feeling like I do now
            When they'd look at me.

      She was always proud
Of the garden that she grew --
   Working with her hands
In everything she'd do.

But now her body can't
      Keep up with her mind
And father seeks for what
        They both cannot find.

        You're a child with
Parents all your own
Then it's your turn at the wheel
      When you are grown.

Then your children
See you old and frail --
Time goes by faster than
      You realise and you've
Passed through the veil.

I've always watched
      The Agèd Hands of Time
         Winding other lives down --
       They were not mine.

But now my past
    Is in the distance and my
Future is as close as my agèd
  Parents and my growing children
     In The Agèd Hands of Time.

Demons to so many are simply metaphors
symbols of our darker side.
A rational mind may discern what is real
even with spectres seen and voices heard.

Seemingly real what our senses feel
we can swear that we heard a disembodied voice
or saw a ghost or spirit
but they may be an illusion--
our eyes and ears do play
tricks on our minds
like hysterical blindness
being all in the head.

As in dreams by night
perhaps these things
are conscious dreams by day--
our minds trying to tell us something
in its own symbolic and abstract way
just as real as physical symptoms
deeply rooted in the mind.

It has been said that your perception is your reality.
If so, these things are then your personal reality.
These things may be real
but only to you
or whoever is in your headspace
or our collective headspace
where our senses peak.

Your reality or your orientation is defined
by what you focus on
and what you look through
day after day.
You truly are what you eat.

Are the negative effects of what you see compounded by further distorted perception?

Are you focusing on something through

     <A spider-web-cracked
           Window?
     <A spider’s web built across
           your Window?
     <A fogged-up or frosted
           window?
     <A coloured or tinted
           window?
     <A *****  smudged window?
     <A window partially or
           totally obscured
           by bushes or trees?        
     <A window at night where
           what you
           see beyond the window

            is superimposed with
            your own reflection and
            that of objects and lights
            that are behind you in
            the room?
     <A window with the blinds
           closed?
                             Or
     <are you myopically looking
           through what is just
           a picture of a window
           hanging on
                               your wall?  
                      ~
Whatever windows we peer through
or whenever we enter
humankind’s collective and connected
head-space
we see and hear these demons and spectres
dancing through the dark empty rooms
and hallways of mind

waiting for the right time
to bring the party to the light
of day
where they will forever stay
since we have been inviting
them and have been preparing
the way for them
for a very
long time.

It hides itself
Better of late
That old companion
In my shadow
That perpetual  
Creeping malaise
Coiling inside my brain

Never springing
Only cr  e      e p             i n g

      Slithering

      Mesmerizing

        Paralyzing

Logic and common sense.
A lord of fear
Undermining mental
Immune systems
Playing my emotions

Like a violin concerto–
Devil's chord

Out of tune socially    
                                Mentally.

But then I see her
In her vulnerable position
That sweet  

        Innocent child/woman
Who props up my remains
Who takes me back
To simpler times
And youthful joys

When the hooded cobra
Was in embryonic form.
This one constant in my life
Keeps the cobra at bay

But it waits just outside the camp
Taunting me
Whispering just low enough
So I can't make out what
It is saying.

But how can one make out hissing?!

When you were always told
That you are fine
Nothing's wrong
Maybe a little neurotic sometimes

What can you do?
Be reduced to a catatonic state?
Where can you hide but in your shadow?

She lays out her heart
On her sleeve  
Both sleeves
As the red
Carpet is rolled
Out for royalty
Whether for
Honor or dishonor
But always
For ceremony

It beats in polyrhythms
Under and on her
Many layered epidermis
Whose layers
Perhaps only a mystical
Archeologist could
Analyze
The complexity of an
Ancient undecipherable book
              
Created by years of damaging
Neural and spiritual
Pathways by absorbing
The essence of her
Personal peace pipe
Which is bereft of the
Essential factors found
In thousands of years of
Dream religion

She fancies herself
A new breed of
Shaman perhaps
A connection broken
At an unknown time
In her spirit
But felt strongly
And deeply as
Phantom pain
Evident in her
Crystal ball
And stargazing

A remnant of
A long lost tribe
A tapestry of
Religions
Trivialized
Pop cultural  
Spirituality
And superstition

Her motives
Misplaced and obscure
But definitely from
A healing source
But the channels are
Eroded and indefinable
Bastardized by

Extraneous channels
And alien sources
A trickle of water
In a dry river bed
All muddled into
This enigma and

Multicolored tapestry
Which is often
Misunderstood
And underestimated
Protected by the
Thick epidermis
And hard to follow
Cardiac polyrhythms
Revealed when her
Many layered tongue
Lashes out and cuts deep

Not intending to control
And manipulate
With leadership
Origins perhaps in the
Shaman or tribal leader
But definitely
Out of place and time
Since their true essence
Has been lost through
Her Westernized
Industrialized
And hyper-capitalized mind

And scattered to the four winds.

Longing eyes upon you cast
As a mirror does reflection find.
In the air of chambers behind
Lingers restless passions laid to rest.
Like a silent laugh or tearless cry
My life seems waste to my enemies.
Their wrath I did bide my time to appease
But hope-sight you gave me--ethereal eyes.
Through these common sight can never be
As a soul into new dimensions born.
At these seas I stand formless on the leas
No longer hiding but now riding the storm.
Your soul holds mine deeper into these seas--
Orpheus and his love reunited forever in
Glorious form.