From the savagery which birthed civility;
From the meek,
I made strong.

I who go on.

I choose to pass-on,
To divide my belongings to those most deserving.
I who will work with others,
And in that way - do for them.
But never by force,
Through any medium & by any method
Of which that takes shape & form.

The little plant bends

with the sun and the wind, blooms --


as much as it can.

When one withholds their perspective,
This is the most sour grape.
That is like wine gone bad,
Caustic & acidic.
Destructive to the natural flow
Of the great amphoras.

They call them crocodile tears
When animals muddy the waters
By disturbing silt or dirt
And thereby obscuring/obstructing
What is otherwise a clear view.
As like pouring wine into a cup of water.

I love it when the long grass takes on the shape and sound of water
When the wind frolics through the green blades
And turns it all into waves
A gentle breeze turning everything into the sea

The Gordian Knot?
¹ The mesh of civilization.

To untie it is to understand it,
To know it.
This is to TIGHTEN it.

To cleave it is to try to conquer it;
It all comes undone,
Never to be re-strung.

You can be Prometheus,
Who was actually always celebrated,
Or you can be Aeneas -
The one who was really ChAINhed to the rock.

What matters is learning,
² All else is for naught.

to hold her is:

to stroll across a bridge in the midst of spring
where the cherry blossoms bloom
and their leaves are seen flitting
across the pond’s reflection

to feel the warm embrace of the suns rays
as they magnify the beauty of the
purple yellow and red
petunias daisies and roses
which lay at the waterbed

to breathe a sigh of relief
at the feeling of fresh air entering your lungs
and replacing the stale dust which once lay

to listen to the serene chirping of the birds
as they build their nests;
the rustling of a deer in the tall grass behind.

to hold her
is to know silence
not as emptiness or a punishment,
but as a gift.

The shortest day throughout the year
Should leave us with but little cheer
Yet as the day turns into night
A hope lies with its dimming light

A hope unbroke through eons past
Tho doubt it often would amass
In hearts and spirits of long last
Ancestors who witnessed it's glow

For they, who didn't truly know
The secrets of the star that hides
That, as the light that shines in thee
The sun lives on, eternally

No longer will the Gods arise
For what's eternal never dies
We leave behind all fear and fright
In that long, cold, dark winter's night

And all that's left for use to do
Is wait for day, to break on through
And turn our faces to the sun
Knowing one day we'll all be one

i listen in
to the whisper of the trees-
like a silence that the earth
can’t quite hold,
words that try to be secrets
kept between the land and the sky
but the wind grips my sap-stained palms
and the branches reach into my soul
like bones crawling out of a grave
and into the air
quietly
but there.