We all are shown the oak in the acorn.
If , we wished to imagine time as a tree,
we may need to die,
as I comprehend
the process of mortality now active in me.

- but prior to my death.

Did we ever finish seeing trees
and any rooting thing,
really whole?
Below the surface of rhyme and song,
have we ever finished seeing the forest?

Chthonic intertwined mushroom goodness at the root,
breathing fruiting branches forming next in seeds,
orantic posed, uplifted branches,
asking daily bread and dew,
offering feed for men and birds,
and in my mind,
peace is overall a kind of comforting,
a kind of knowing recognitive
when sparked with mere
cast out words to wish with in time, windcast
as spore when puff ***** burst, or
as fire works, in the current
metaphor for knowing
exploding in all who
get
a feeling,
wait and see, as if
time lapse photography
my own grandmother lived to see.
Our children learn.
And I am not the last
to let that gleam seem magic,
that gleam I saw that one time, in my grandma's eye.

All the beauty in the world envies you.
Yet you offer out a hand to any who may need it.
Holy beings dance to your melodies,
songs so soothing they cure a broken heart.
The ground around you sparkles with a myriad of blossoms.
Words so sweet satan himself shows you compassion.
Your silky golden hair eclpises the shine of all precious treasures.
I never knew love could be filled with such certainty.

Holy hot sauce,
Hot sauce burning down leftovers and waste,
Adding spice to this flesh
Not going with anything,
Not going with anything else
Better,
Never better than hot sauce,
Hot sauce with well stuffed and fried or stewed
In Shells of porcelain contents,
Shaped and decorated, well plated,
Well plated with Silver and Gold plateaus
Of stew, salads and anything fried
Taking a rich shower of the loveliest spiced,
Holy hot sauce.

I saunter parallel to these pews,
dragging my fraying fingers along the tops.
Reaching for a wooden comfort, but
instead I’m pricked.
I shake the splinter and splutter the blood off.
Wearing my head high, I finish my descent
up the holy steps.
My mother stands,
stuck
looking past me and out the stained window,
letting it strike her into a silhouette.
The priest exclaims
New Beginnings!
My mother
matches his declaration two seconds too late.
My dad nods his head,
the final vote of the jury locked in.

With guilt and god on my side,
I take the holy plunge.
My head falls in,
harshly.
I’m aching for a numinous experience,
only to suffocate from the darkness
that comes with this reality
I will breathe into.
My head may be under the aquatic illusion of renewal
but my feet stay planted on the
fractured  ground.

I am forced to look past the daze of illusion.
Because in the light
I can clearly see the greys left in our destruction.
I look back and my finger has bled
all over the back of this dress.
New Beginnings!
I exclaim,
with a red stain grained into my backside,
but an empty canvas in the front.

With my hair slicked back I hear a
mumble.
You look just like your mother,
And maybe I do
hold her eyes
but I can see
what she can not.
The graying dreams that my parents are dis alluded to.
Their skeletons in the attic or the
boxes of dresses in the basement,
even though today I wear one.
I will look at the destruction created behind us
and not walk with them.

Because in this holy light
her eyes bask and only look
chocolate at its best.
And in this dim shadow
mine shine like amber honey.

looked at you for too long
and then i realized
you are human, too

fallible
uncertain
flawed

piously pined for
palatial splendor i
placed in my dreams of you,
imperfect you

and it's no ones fault
a figure headed facade
fabricated by figments
of my frivolous imagination

put you on a pedestal
made you divine
made you holy

you, the ceiling
high above my head
and i, looking up
in the sistine chapel

untouchable
untarnished

couldn't see the cracks
beneath the varnish

then, close enough to study
a faint fresco with critical eyes
fantasy faded in the fault lines
of your frowning face

looked for too long
until i realized
you were just as broken as me

a collection of shattered pieces
shrouded and shy
once a shrine
now a shriek

wide eyes on you
a sinner, still
i called you sacred

ignoring the nature of
the irreverent, the profane

liked the luster
of longing lingering
on my lips
when i breathed your name

the veil torn
the truth beheld
and you are not god

gambling grief and
gleaming gloom
thought i could be
the sun to your moon

majesty to malignancy
momentarily merciful
moreover cruel

monstrous mr monsoon
after all, human, too

Do you know Jesus?
Only He is trustable
His Love is greatest