conversations with poets p. 2

X:
Oh poet o poet, you stole all the lyrics, left none for me. Inspiration is gone and no longer comes easily. Oh muse of music, now it is my turn to hold the key

Y:
Oh mirror o mirror, the lyrics are the shell, what they hold is everlasting. Inspiration is a well that runs deeper than the deepest well in the world, older than the oldest star in the universe, and as long as there are those to contemplate Reality's ineffable effulgence, inspiration will never run dry.

Origins

Whether we are God's creation

Progeny of Adam and Eve

Or children of the stars

And the stepping stones of evolution 

Whether everything 

Or nothing is a miracle

Whether scientists discover the origin of our Universe

Or theologians find irrefutable evidence of God 

Whether alchemy or aliens

Whether intelligent design

Or evolutionary theory

At one point

Something arose 
From Nothing

Whether it was the Big Bang or Seven Days

At one point

Everything as we know it 
Materialized from absolutely nothing

And that is all I need to know

There are holes big enough for our Universe 

within the theories and understanding of men

Whether they wear white lab coats or ceremonial robes

Most sell false gold coated in certainty

So give me no gold, certainty or white robes

Take me away from everything

That takes me away from this

Each moment, each breath
A reminder of that pre-eternal dance
From Nothing to Something

ruminations p 1

...I peered into the mirror and saw you...

...Instead of a heart, she had a mirror,
everyone who looked at her saw a reflection of themselves...

...The ugliest thing a mirror can show you is yourself...

..In my lover's memory, I traced a path completely my own...

...There is no rose without thorns...

...Hold me like your Starbucks in winter...

...I am not made of ice, to melt from a little salt...

...Falling in and out of fuck...

...The most beautiful thing a mirror can show you is yourself...

...If it bleeds, let it...

...I just went through a whole day, and I'm still asleep...

...If it beats, don't stop...

...I slept through the snooze, rushed to work, and when I got there
my dream said wake the fuck up...


...We're all stories waiting to be granted an audience...

Sea of the moment

A hush gently drapes the early morning, like mist
over everything there is a dull glow
like headlights through thick fog.
Within this sleepy silence
there appears no movement
only a kind of effortless sway
a serene dance between light and shadow,
tree leaf and grass blade; heartbeat,
breath and each blink of the eye.

Sitting here witness to the blossoming sea of the moment
I can't help but ask
why move unnecessarily?
Why assume that I really know better?
Why grasp? Why move away from this moment?
Why impose myself onto this magnificent mural,
this bewildering tapestry that I can scarcely understand? 

I just want to be as here as possible
I just want to be as me as possible.

And when I run that course
I turn around and stop running.
One by one, I remove every article of clothing,
every trinket that I have collected along this road
and one by one, those memories slip from my fingers
and the wind carries away the pieces of my heart.

Migrating birds

Somehow, I've always known what is to be done.
This life, this chance of beautiful breath
can not be lived for my sake alone.
I can not subsist by myself
this I know.
Where I'm going, feet won't take me
shoes and shawl can offer no comfort.
Where I'm going, memories do not follow.
So before this body's time is up
I would ask for wings from my dreams
to fly my soul to that final destination.

confessions p 20

I always believed beauty was in the effortless dance
of a leaf caught in the breeze, a laughing rose
the revolving night sky, serene passing of clouds
and the slow growth of root to branch to fruit...
But effortlessly, is how I want to waltz and tango through these killing fields
Effortlessly, is how I want to bleed.