Waking
Dragging
Wanting
Hoping.

So much more to life.

Seeing the trouble
Not knowing what to do…

Waiting
Dragging
Hoping
Wanting.

I broke.

I once wanted one.
A dad.
A true father.
To his heart,
to his wife,
and his family.
What I got was another.

Swallowed by suffering,
his silence
suffocating a dream.
His?
Mine?

Lost and adrift
and slowly
buried
by his past.

Now father.
Dad.
I alone have to stand.
For my youth
long since passed.
Stand for my kids, my wife,
and yearning
for the heart, the Soul
of my Self.

For the boy who’s walked alone,
who still lives with me.
So that the pain can rise,
Can breach the surface
and let loose
the storm
for a sweet burial song.
  
All this
so he can once again
Remember
what love is.

I’m navigating a field of dark something-ness
Sitting quiet in morning air

In these cavities where my soul perceives life, I seek a heightened energy

Laying hidden behind wrinkled skin
tucked tightly into two beds of compact tissue
in this moment they rest purposefully as if sitting behind window curtains

They serve a common purpose when prompted,
To identify objects in this limiting dimensional plane.

Some days when I come here, I wander aimlessly across battle-torn countries of thought
It is essential to let the river take them
Watching them pass as an observer instead of the instigator
Feeling the depth of their sting grow distant

Sinking deeply into the dimension where we live beyond bodies

Where I am a bee pollinating the flower
I am the bird calling out in a resounding plea
I am the wind pushing through bamboo forests

Until breath inhaling and collapsing my cadaver becomes less of a grounding cord
And the mat placed beneath with intention is no longer a chain to the ground

There is now no face to inhabit,
The world; a faint memory of molding

Here the wind isn’t quite invisible
Temperature is not affected by her power
Bearing colors, intentions and tranquility

I let her carry me up and away