It’s like a winter all year round
where all is covered on the ground
to prevent the coming out
of love’s amazing grace.

Perhaps the summer harsh and stark
caused a retreat into the dark
where hearts can stay as icicles
and not thaw into their truth.

But so it is from now till when
dead the roots in ego beds
and hearts are free to move again
unfettered by the false.

The false, the false, how true it is
when hearts interned as frozen buds
for fear of blooming visibly
into a world not ready yet.

You aren’t ready, that is true,
and so the world will never be!

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The veils are made to last
and they keep the truth at bay
like clouds on summer days
and they’re heavy like the price we pay
to be participants.

I stand like one distanced from
my own damn window pane
held so by veils ordained to be
there for no good reason
but to keep me ignorant.

Oh, glory be, oh, glory be
but not ever in my lifetime
because boughs tap to no avail
when soundproofed is the mind
by impenetrable veils.

Boughs and veils and window panes
and the whispers of “Oh, glory be”
bounce back like useless tender
into my human stock-pile
there to lie as dormant
through the happenstance of life!

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I listen to that drone at night;
‘tis silent when the brain takes flight
into the mix and blend of days
that begat both pleasure and the pain.

And the drone is overcome by this
like trees within a swirl of mist
and lies invisibly forlorn
by all that went before.

Yet still I hear the wish, the need,
for mind to repel useless scenes
and pattern a new vision quest
for when the mind’s at rest.

Sleep, oh, sleep, amazing sleep,
and spirit will acquires a beat
that moves the mind and heart of one
towards the shade of other suns.

That shade’s a place where all must go
and they say it’s deep within the soul!

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‘tis the crates that keep the mind
well and truly confined
and there is no disgrace
until the moment comes
for clearing out the store
of the implanted.

Sometimes it’s done, the floor is swept,
mind becomes an adult,
and choice stands large and regal
in the silence of a void.

To the side the aid of ignorance
stands tempting in the shadows
but it’s called in simple parlance
a survival tool
in a world where crates are comforters
and stagnant air a crutch.

And so of adults ignorant
who choose the side again, again,
beware the large and regal
because it’s mass an awesome force
until the floor is cleared again
and ne’er again is littered
with crates of limitation!

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I cannot say they’re fickle
or simply do not care
but rather that they’re fluid
and seep between the gaps
of determined ignorance
in attempts to be known
and made meaningful.

I look sometimes across the lie
but the ignorant can see no gap
and cannot gather drips and drops
of what they cannot see
and so of vows they lie as dead
from this life until the next ~
but between the two, yes, it’s true,
there’s most certainly a gap
and I await the gathering
while preparing my epistle
in defence of ignorance!

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‘twas just a mental pull and tug
with intent behind the force
that left a large and empty hole
where love was meant to be ~

and so then I believed
that stakes removed can bring about
love’s certain demise ~

but then I did not believe
because I saw love still alive
at the base of my belief.

It trickled this way/that
as if the floor tilted
in accordance with the times
but I know to wait till finally
all the parts come back together
and the winds of change are ready.

And so that’s the way it goes
a pull and tug, a flow,
a trickle this way/that,
and a wait for the return
of the true state of heart!

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And that mind forward marches
the soul into despair
when the lines between the real/unreal
are frail and delicate.

I layer them; I do sometimes
when love is fulsome, free
with thread upon each thread
of unbreakable resolve
to enact upon the ground
the true intent of soul.

It’s the strengthening of lines
that finally will hold in place
all wayward human minds
and ‘tis the chore of those who love
to act as surrogates
for those too well immersed
in the times of their lives.

But until, yes, until
the agony of those who love
is put aside and nullified
they’re useless aids and helpers
in the strengthening process ~
and so I wake today
a woman only now equipped
to weave the threads myself!

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They sit in cupboards, nooks, crannies,
and cause the overflow of past
to crowd and suffocate the new
like demons that askew the mind.

And it takes a mind of extra strength
to lift and hold aloft intent
to clear by any manner, means,
all that went before.

It’s a fearful thing to hold clean slates
but I hold the slate; I am the slate,
I hold the chalk; I am the chalk,
and while I think what thoughts to write
years pass with old creations.

Now is the time to write new thoughts
on slates wiped clean and sanitized
then just to settle in and wait
because creation’s not a speedy thing
to suddenly jump out complete
from all the moss and other “stuff”
that litters paths and bars advance.

I write of love and fortitude,
of patience, wisdom, peace,
and above all things my happiness
while I sit and wait!

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The sun beats down the heat of fatigue
till night heralds in the shiver of fear
but in the downpour of all obstacles
the truth waits in a self-made shelter.

Immortal patience and trained fortitude,
a shelter for truth in the times of chaos
but it’s not unhappy confined so within
nor dismayed by the thunder of grief.

It’s simply like me content to just be
there where it’s safe and not fragmented
by the seemingly harsh current conditions
that force a retreat into silence.

And so truth is o’er laid and forgotten
for the time it takes for inclement weather
to pronounce a surrender and yield
to the forceful and dynamic.

Storms; there are storms, earthquakes and more,
theft, murder, crime, like outsized hail stones,
and the sea like disease rises up, up, up,
to move and remove those in its path.

When the heart’s in denial
and the world in upheaval
the truth of love merely smiles
and simply, you know, bides its time!

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Crushing blows and then dismay
turn nights to days in life’s foray
but love, illusive love, lays down
its heart and soul into the ground.

It should fight and grow in might
and honour higher up delight
for like to like, the rule up there,
in strength can climb each living stair.

But weak and listless, disengaged,
it turns deaf ears and sleeps encaged
behind the bars known long ago
when earth became its fragile home.

Projected like a moving play
I watch enthralled its wish to stay
and sing in tune with my desire
for hands to lift the veil of time.

From there in air to here it calls
and flows through me its need of more.

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