You-
                        Lover of a thousand arms
                        lift me high above myself,
You-
        strong enough to find the strength in a lowered gate;
eternally holds lock and key inside of me.

And it’s You-
               keeper of mind;

       teaching one to know better at no benefit of his own;
                      how decisively deceptive of you/

                     so open and juxtaposed in my sight
             You, who calls my soul to love free;

You-
man of numbers;

          placing them in the stars so they project on every clock;
                               together ticking eternity;

           man who thinks more of others than he does himself;
                carefully crafting out the finest versions of me/

                 though think our thoughts are on opposition -
                  
                                                You.
How dare you?

        We have plotted forever without knowing it;
                     this whole entire universe and

                 You.

Can you query your deep decadence?

                    Healing my wounds from a far-
            time nor space measures a soul so boundless

                          You...carrier of divine grace

It Is You-
                       an auspicious gift from the Gods-
                       how precious is the powers that Be..

Does it surprise You?

                Millennia’s have past /
                                 circling back around,
                        I have found-

               who tastes like an eternal sweetness,
               one who bears both dark and light
                                      
                                     chooses only-
                                             You;
            give rise to the sun and nightfall to the moon
                    
             Keeper of dreams-

                              are apart of every. sole. reason/
      
                                                         ­      to wake up

  and love …

                                              You.


~Breanna Womble

art, in any form,
helps deal with what is real,
an escape to a euphoric place
a way out of the sacrilege
that we now call living.

words can't often do justice
to such a beautiful place,
for even the love songs fail
whenever we embrace.

maybe the world is darker now
than it used to before,
maybe we have now raised our voices
to speak up,
our beliefs and fears
all out there
in the open now.

the world was as pure as the canvas before,
now that we are painting it
without ever knowing
if we will finish it,
tricking ourselves into thinking
we hold the brush
and decide the strokes
we decide,
our humble abode
rather than fearing
a loss of control
the world,
it is out there
for us to feel
as it has always been
through time,
an inviolate home
for those with beauty in their eyes to see.

The mind clings to forms
to hold against the silence
to guard itself from you
the secret deadly enemy
hanging out on your own front stoop
winkin’ at your little sister
and begging for an invite to dinner
you can let him pass too
onto the vapor of a conjured illusion
you can let the words
coming from here get stronger
you can hear me more clearly and louder
the self that you buried
under the rot of yesterday’s tomorrow
all that chatter is of no matter you can tell

But don’t tell of the nonsense
of nothings wrapped in desire
that’s old news
from days when newspapers were read
that talk takes the time
of a 20th century backpacker
hiking Truth’s trail
NOW is the only time that there is
for waking from the ringing of the bell
don’t stomp out the silence
the one answer screaming
the reality one is

Only in silence you remember the key
to the treasure in the chest
holding your heart crafted in love
isn’t that the whole happiness quotient
wrapped up like a perfect peace package
I just can’t comprehend the human species
and its endless repeating crimes
how many life sentences
does one have to get
to see only the Self and be free
burn off the rest of the pride
every lyin’ thought’s last roar into dust
forms can’t hold true life
it’s real light making ghostly forms known

The man by the flowers
is giving with his tender care

The woman by the shelves
is giving with her dusty hands,

Him, by the trash bin,
gives with his inconspicuous hard work

Her, by the street, gives with the brightest smiles

Them, by the office, gives with their protective minds,

And father gives with his visionary love.

Mother gives with her fine-honed instinct

Sister gives with her passionate dreams,

Brother gives with his inspiring character

Nephew gives with his contagious laughter.

You and I, by our flowers, by our shelves, by our trash bin, by our street, by our office, with our care, with our hands, with our work, with our smile, with our minds, or our vision, or our instinct, or our love, or our dreams, or our character, or our laughter,

We give.