Boxes Of Things
With life we wander at times it seems.
Gathering cards and photos and memories of dreams.
In order they’re put, and tucked away in a box of things.
The Child Cries
The child cries, trembling in fear.
Listening intently, but cannot hear.
Blinded, if only he could see.
Mute and deaf? No, just a need to be free.
The Ebbed Flower
Love is lost. Such tremendous cost… to the flower as it’s blooming.
Dew on the soft leaves that glisten…
Now I listen, to the wind passing clouds, dark and looming.
The Hiding Place
There is a place I’ve been hiding.
Beneath the sheets of fear and unknown.
I’ve imagined the monsters beneath my bed.
Vehicle Of Awareness
There is a lot to all of life. Valid or not by any standard, is irrelevant.
Spirit and universe will pass on any conduit availed to it.
Thus providing validity to even the most unlikely element.
Words Of Love
These are words of life. These are words of soul. These are words of self. In the spirit world we find conflict in truths we have been told. We find conflict in internal elements we attempt to hold. We reach for the pure. We reach for the peace. We reach for things beyond our grasp we hope to unfold.
This is a story of sadness. A story of pain in a beautiful form. The story of a world in which we are born. We birth ourselves to knowledge without understanding. We birth ourselves to love with the promise of serenity. Only what comes before us we don’t always want to see.