Rose Series – Begun May 6, 2005 at 8:52 in the morning while resident in Alpharetta, Georgia and pondering the imponderables of life. Continued through the tour of many places that touch the heart until we reach 127, the number for all destinations.
Changes in the weaving marking changes in the heart; roses never savored still can touch my every part.
No. 1 New Beginnings
The intersect of memory, an age now filled and gone.
Elected this summation that caps the last full wrong.
The needs that drove the dyings and the blood that dried uncleansed
We drank of these full knowing how short our time to live.
Designed in flesh and future this juncture of despair.
The worst and least of Mankind is past the best repair.
That the flow of human telling might shift away from hate
We chose this point of balanced wrong and sealed the flow of fate.
The balance and the bornings and the generations gone.
Each of these we measured as we dwelt within that song.
The Seven danced the mime of mind
and wove from anguish this Design.
You drink this anguish stricken from mind to bone and cell
No! the message given, your spirit raped and so compelled
To see the contradictions that lift both mind and soul
Now the moment of selection that sees the soul forged goal.
Beyond the edge of custom is freedom of the mind.
This, the vision calls to you, the end of Our Design.
The Christ is present in you to speak the word of light
Your mind consents to listen in loving and delight.
The past is death and grasping and its time to start anew.
The Soul of Christ is in you speaking what is true.
No. 2 Doors – written because of a quote from Cynthia
The doors providing egress that divide but also bind
Are the questions we must answer linking us to the Design
For the steps that trace our living and the words that speak our needs
Enunciate distinctions that remake the course of creeds.
I have lingered in the living and I've tasted of desire
The skin commends the anguish extinguished in that fire.
And still on my agenda is the forward pull of soul
The first and last commandment giving life its finest goal.
The doors stay closed or open; the doors divide and bind
The doors beckon us to open and release the core of Mind
The doors exist within us although we look outside
And the doors can also promise that homes beyond abide.
I open doors in trepidation and I open doors in haste
But all the doors are homeward bound; uniting us in Grace.
No. 3 A Rioting of Flowers - written for the picture from Ray
The panoply of living will announcing life's renewal
Flings its glories on the ground for future's hoped accrual.
In gold and green mosaic, in purple tides of sun made joy
The flowers on the arching hills; a statement God employs.
A lecture on the moments of time that ticks away
Perfection in the making, if Earth can have her way.
Incitement to endurance, and balm of vanished will.
The flowers speak survival to men who listen still.
Inside the mind thats thinking beyond the moments need
Are lessons for the learning that we should take and heed.
The majesty of ancient cliffs, the rioting of flowers
Enduring things of moment that count up human hours.
Inside the womb of living, by Earth and past well worn
The mind of man is learning from a lesson inward borne.
No. 4 The Tones of Love
The sound of tones forgotten; and the taste of hope renewed.
The nearness of a rapture that both captures and eludes.
The melodies remembered that race the heart and mind
These the soul borne fibers that weave love in the Design.
Associated fragrance; the rose pressed on the page.
The letter kept and cherished 'til it crumbles, brown with age.
We cling to those illusions and ignore what can be real
As we taste the vast profusion, the universal meal.
Beyond digestive moments when the soul can pause to hear.
When all the past pretensions leave us nothing more to fear.
Untrammeled by the baggage carried with us from the womb.
Is the truth we all came searching for, if ego with make room.
In momentary insights, in the clearing of debris
The time proved truth of loving awaits for eyes that see.
No. 5 In Contemplation of Chocolate – Written for Roses
In waking need and memory the mind reminds the tongue.
The nose evokes that heady scent; incitement has begun.
The silky sheen of perfect shell; the berried glaze inside.
The thirst for chocolate ecstasy, a hungry heart beguiled.
The sight and touch reminds us of times now passed away.
Magnificent experience; enchantment long delayed.
The fingers touch the surface, so smooth and sharp the edge.
The scent so rich and eloquent; an object and a pledge.
The fullness of experience; the lips caress and probe.
The tongue explodes, sensation bound, each nibble so extols.
That tasted edges beckon us to sate our inner greeds.
And lead us on to avenues that ease our other needs.
A chocolate form perfected is worth the price it cost.
Eaten and remembered; that pleasure can't be lost.
No. 6 The Tools of Humanity – A series within a series.
For Roses, who thought it would be a good idea.
Into the mind of woman from her desperation born
Came the use of hair and fibers to tie and weave what's worn.
Her need arose from circumstance, her arms must hold her child.
Ideas made into matter were necessity compiled.
The babe she bore and suckled brought love and desperate need.
The eye locked needs of mother, child, evoked a better breed.
The mind of woman understood what only women know.
The fear and awe that men expressed became both faith and goad.
Original of family, her whose children lived to breed
Original of commerce, cooperation born through need.
Original of churching, the awe that incites fear
Original of everything, came from babe held near.
Original transition from animal to now.
Ideas the means appointed to create and to endow.
The awe of birth and bleeding, creating fear in eyes of men
Became the lever needed to survive, again, again.
The rise of nation's power that deified men's gods
Ignored the source devoured that had shortened all our odds.
The commerce grown from weavings that only women made
Consumed by rampant needings that made all women slaves.
The world in forward motion, forgetting whence it came
Creates in place of history men's fantasies of fame.
No. 7 Loving and Being Loved
In momentary increments like beads that tell our faith.
The moments of a love well tried brings solace and true grace.
The blending and contentment designs a place apart.
The changing tones of mind and skin seep in to touch the heart.
Through all the parts of loving, thin and tempered steel.
The truth of love patinaed lend us ease most real.
Through anguish and through anger, through vanity and age
The truth of love instructs us as life turns every page.
All disappointments mellow because of eyes that see
Accepting imperfections that bind and leave us free.
The rapture and rejections that love can meet and mend
Teach us that for loving we first must find a friend.
The sweetness of full trusting; a place I've yearned to know.
The place that still eludes me where I most want to go.
No. 8 A Prayer for the Children of Iraq and America
who have tasted the dust of death in the womb.
Born from trauma; wounded by their time within the womb.
They want the arms of loving while truth spells out their doom.
They struggle to see beauty through eyes boiled red by war
They're here for us to cherish because that's what babes are for.
When the sight of them revolts us; we turn so not to see
But these babies born to suffer speak our own destines.
Our leaders stole their future that profits might accrue
Those of us who care enough must give them what is due.
These babies soft and needing, who survived the dust of death
Deformed, their mothers grieving, bear the cost of this excess.
Truncated lives of struggle their faces shock our eyes
This truth must be examined; it cannot be denied.
The Geiger counter clatters instead of rattled toys
The burning pain envelopes them and cancels out all joy.
And still our leaders posture, lie and bumble right along
Because the profits counted cannot possibly be wrong.
Our weapons scored their chances to live the lives we know.
Our leaders eyes on profit dismissed their right to grow.
From nuclear waste recycled into weapons aimed both ways
It's generations still unborn who'll know the real price paid.
A poison lives among us in souls well steeped in greed
All of us their victims, ground up that they might feed.
The appetites of NeoCons grow without an end
Consuming all Earth's children, so Earth might start again.
Humankind is fragile and the lesson from Earth's school
May cancel all our future lives, all hope for our renewal.
The justice unremitted to these, the most in need
Could spell the loss of every life that fails to hear or heed.
Justice now for all the babes to make the world more sane.
A promise for the future that ends the right to maim.
Justice for the Earth herself, for all of us are One
One people on one globe of life beneath one pulsing sun.
The time is past for waiting; the dust of death arrives.
It settles on our nationhood with all its sheaths of lies.
It cloaks our every action with disrepute and fear
And stark will be the future if the least are not held dear.
10,000 generations, uncounted lives destroyed
Will pass to find this dust of death still active and deployed.
Our babies still will struggle to see and breathe and be
As Earth, the first born mother, rethinks our destiny.
No. 9 To the Ill Fame of both sides in the Civil War
The South would rise with sabers and take up speech of rights
Lincoln, mad oppressor, would be shown that they could fight.
But America's Revolution, now lost and passed away
Had left a clear foundation that still had much to say.
It's words of honored mention affirmed all Man to be free
The capital that bought the chance affirmed that destiny.
No state has rights to limit; no state may this amend.
So Southern rights were hollow, infirm at every end.
So Lincoln used the flower of a serfdom ill devised.
From England's dour history, in the South is still survived.
To reinvent a kinghood that stays with us today.
And the words of freedom lingered, not knowing what to say.
With manifest assertions, flawed with greeds and power
Lincoln took our Nation to Freedom's darkest hour.
His help meets were all Southern because they failed to see.
That freedom isn't given through any state or fee.
So cry for banners lifted to a State built on a lie
And cringe for all the might have beens that Southerners deny.
From the one Eternal, residing in the soul
Freedom still is sacred – and Freedom's still the goal.
No. 10 Sophia Coming from the Shadows
Emerging from long silence, ages long, that stilled her voice
Comes the image of a woman who gives form to the Design
Her lengthy absence anguished, it killed our forward choice.
Condemning all to interregnum of the feminine sublime.
The birthing of all children viewed as wage of sinful act.
The very truth of generation seen as ugly and obscene.
The coursing of her body became a shameful monthly fact.
Her truths were changed and altered to own her and demean.
Her gifts that made us human, that set this course through time
The weavings and the makings that became our wealth of mind.
Converted to men's erections; their possession reassigned
But the truth, though long evaded, still awaited those inclined.
Now Sophia is emerging into minds that can't forget.
Her presence forging hope anew beyond the grave of years.
The blending of the Consciousness that now we can't reject.
Holds place for all of humankind who move beyond their fears.
Anointing true awaking She who launched us into time
Comes Sophia, Ancient Mother, who sets our course divine.
No. 11 The Mind of Mother
Gathered by the handfuls the grain would fill their need
The children, gaunt and hungry, they clung and asked to feed.
Her baby's whimpers moved her to see all things anew
From pounded grains made into paste the babe survived and grew.
The residue of pounded grains fell on heated rocks
The woman touched its brown tinged crust, and tasted what heat brought..
The grains of gathered wheat and rye, the seeds of barley, corn
From all the seeds she gathered the baking bread was born.
The labor of the making, devising better tools
These the truth of woman-world that forged all human rules.
No. 12 The Summoning of Vision
His hands extended raptures that I have never known
His face alive with vital thought and glowing, pulsing tones.
He locked my eyes in visions that reached beyond today
And drew me into Love again without a word to say.
All the distant journeys now gone and passed away
All the anguished moments past, extinguished in today
All the deaths and destiny that cost us each so dear
All for Him before me who I can almost hear.
His arms upreaching tell me of further work to do
The joyous challenge in His face makes all experience new.
And in that Face so perfect another One is born
A Face that holds summations, beginnings lightly worn.
The silent face of futures already made and and come
Reprove my doubt and fearing and leave me still and numb.
To do the work still promised; to live within the pledge
The brotherhood that draws me on to life's most holy edge.
And from the Face that drew me another One comes forth
Her beauty soft and vibrant, alive with truth and force.
The hands and arms uprising now reach out to embrace
The cost of love is knowing; the gift of truth is Grace.
The sight of golden glories that burn into my eyes
Subsume the Truth oncoming; without the least disguise.
No. 13 Dance of Reckoning – for the cessation of fear
Sequestered in the silence that is deep and ages long
Is the requiem of innocence that buries all my songs.
Within that cup of bitterness that stings my every draught
Resides the dregs of my salvation, all made of right and wrong.
Upturned the cup of rapture, to drain out every drop
Consumed the savor and the sanity without the time to stop.
My anguish and my ecstasies both canceled out through time
And me, I am so glad of it, I've finished the Design.
The ages and the wages and the untold lives between
Compiled every minute, every thread of thought I'd seen.
And the missteps mark my passing from the form and flow of truth
From age evolving innocence, the larval form of youth.
The reckoning is coming through the darkened caul of years
I stand right here to meet in, wrapped in all my fears.
No. 14 What if?
What if I hadn't told you before you left today
How very much I love you; how glad you came my way.
What if I hadn't told you, hadn't had you in my life?
My life would have been different, emptier of cheer.
Without that special feeling of knowing you are near.
My life would be vacant of your intriguing bent of mind.
shallower and thinner, and probably less kind.
I am very glad I know you, very glad me met
And no matter what may happen now, that I'll not regret.
No. 15 Connecting Time and Minds
In the intercourse of moment when eyes and minds are one.
Are the places where connections are forged beneath this sun.
Invisible the interface, behind where no one sees
There the quantum interlaces, binds yet leaves us free.
In communion Earth elected long before the thought was born
In the silence soul elected from a past both raw and torn.
Came the longing and desire to return to something new.
The question poised in contemplation so that thought could then ensue.
Here we pause in fear and longing to hear and still our needs
That the follies of the ages might be healed, our anguish eased.
And the intellect that drew us can amend the broken dream
Of a joining and a rapture that incites and so redeems.
The connections weave our spirits and design a world not seen
As we explore reflections without knowing what they mean.
No. 16 Velvet Roses - for Roses
My lips embraced its essence as its scent caressed my mind
I remember roses that entice and so remind.
The velvet of its petals were a riot most sublime
I drown in convolutions that invite and lend me time.
The rapture found in roses on an early morning walk
Remain the place inside my memory that does not need to talk
For the touch and taste of roses, long dead, still live in me
And this the sure reflection that restates my destiny.
I remember roses and I hunger for the mist
That glaze their unfurled colors when blue tones still persist.
And I wished to stop the moment, to extend the cusp of joy
because the fiercest pleasures should never be alloyed.
The few, the sharp, the insights that redeem the time misspent
All for me hold memories that tie them fast to scents.
No. 17 Cascades of Light
The mottling of forest shifts the leaves above my head.
The light, a motley harbor that eases every dread
I swim in eddied fragrance hearing symphonies of life.
Catch the errant flurries turning each to sheer delight.
Time suspending problems that sent my soul to Earth
Tortured hope has filled me; I hungered for rebirth
I walk the paths of needled pine and pray to be renewed.
The sound and scent of living things still tells me what is true.
Cascades of light divining that kiss my hair and eyes
Remind me of reflected thought from which the mind grows wise.
Cascades within the fall of forest sent by distant sun.
Incite the thoughts from ages borne to see all life as One.
In cascades made of photons to cascades made of thought
From all and each is life compiled and forward progress wrought.
No. 18 Connecting to Tomorrow
A passage to the future that eases every grief
Arms that squeeze out every fear that challenge my belief
Echoes of another Love, One that held me near
A space for this remembering is every day more clear.
The destiny of fortune remits my forward rush
The agony revisited is pain and also just.
Ownership admitted to life too lightly lived
Still holds all the promise that One came here to give.
Inside the folds of folly, outside the throb of need
Is every right intention that leave me free to grieve.
Acceptance that the struggle may kill my dearest hope.
And cut off all the promises that gave me larger scope.
Acceptance of potential; acceptance of the loss
Both inherent certainties that blend the promised Cross.
No. 19 More Roses for Roses
Its coiled petals murmur of the scent that draws me in.
Its memory will linger when life is harsh and thin.
I'll taste recalled renewal from its fragrance and its touch
Glad a rose's essence can't lie or kill my trust.
The memory of roses that linger in my mind
Recall interludes of rapture, neither harsh nor kind.
These pauses in life's flowing are grace points for the soul
Neither need nor pain there touches me beyond a need for goals.
The rapture of the roses; their scent reminds and heals.
They ask no price, extract no strife, no part of me need yield.
My pleasure from the roses won't take their scent away
My memory remains with me; they wither undismayed.
So life extends and nurtures, not all exchanges take
And roses bloom and die unplucked, ignoring all my thanks.
No. 20 The Confusion of Roses
The convoluted petals, like bouquets of ripened thought
Dispel the empty detritus that time and pain have wrought
A morning full of dreaming gleams, the shadows all are gone.
Untasted possibilities, all poised like unsung song.
The bud becomes the flower arching out to bring renewal.
The stamen and the pistil don't think about the rules.
Their drive to live and multiply appoints their short lived need.
A failure to perpetuate would cancel out their breed.
The flower and the primate live to cast their seed
But in the time allotted us is also time to grieve.
For moments missed and muddled, untasted joys of soul
These cadenced delectations remain each spirit's goal.
The rapture of the roses meet in minds that reach through pain
To teach your soul the unseen truth and make this living sane.
No. 21 The Arrival of Roses – for Roses
Kissed with misted memories that linger in the mind
The roses came with greetings to tell me life is kind.
They set up place of honor on the table by my bed
Their fragrance touched on all the things that we have never said.
The roses of reflection coddle dreams we have not shared
Connections that are fragile, never spoken, never dared.
They remain in introspection, safe inside the head
Never spoken, never followed, because of where they lead.
But roses bloom unfrightened, hours measure out their time.
Their blooming: its own purpose; outside of our designs.
The fragrance so evoking of dreams that burn and ache
Remain when bed is empty and no one can partake.
So thank you for the roses, they linger in my mind.
As do your words and wicked wit, outside this cusp of time.
No. 22 To Roses
Linking pinkies binds a friendship with no limits and no end
The pledge abides vicissitudes of time and place and kin.
And Roses hear the music of a dance that has begun
A dance that weaves its magic in melodies of tongue.
In wakings and in makings that remind us life is dear
The nuance of a friendship is always light and clear
A voice that asks and pauses, ears that wait to hear
The links of common thinking find the icons both revere.
And the music of the moment wafts like seas of rippled light
That gleam with conversations that promise new delights
New insights spark and hold us in the dance of human need
That nurture and sustain us, entice and leave us free.
The linking of the pinkies and ideas that light the dark
Pledges of a friendship that enraptures mind and heart.
No. 23 Points of Funny
The touch of truth relieves us of the pain we cannot shed
Laughter is the instrument that eases heart and head.
Connecting us to anguish while anguish trickles out.
Laughter is the medium through which we lose our doubts.
The convoluted raptures that remind us we are odd
The insights that redeem us and point us back to God
The closeness of a sharing where we acknowledge fear
All, the stuff of humor that help our minds grow clear.
The spark of light that ripples in laughter that extols
The end of life and fervor that is every souls real goal.
Allows the closest blending of mind and heart and touch
That honor and extend us, showing life is just.
Laughter lights the fires of worlds still hid from sight
That deliver our redemption and the substance of delight.
No. 24 On Dying Roses
Their petals curl and darken from red to russet tones
Its scent condensed turns inward and reminds me I'm alone
The magic and the moment are paused in cusp of life
And roses turn towards dying, leaving my delight..
A symbol speaking loving, to human eyes and minds
The rose itself the organ for making its own kind.
The petals beckon breeding, continuance through time
Never thinking or debating its place in the design.
Man's endorphined haze of rapture is foreign and absurd
The rose accepts its dying with neither cry nor word.
Small deaths of hope and honor are human kinds of thoughts
The rose curls in, extinguished, its petals bend and drop.
Between the death of roses and the hope that makes life whole
Are promises of loving that remain my human goal.
No. 25 Islands in the Desert
Islands in the desert reaching up into the sky
Cloaked with pine and cedar they stand three miles high
The desert down below them holds a different kind of life
The distance is deceptive; each a gradient of strife
The struggle to continue; in each a single song
The cactus and the cedar, neither right or wrong.
The life that time unfolded from the sea, an age away
Is still the Mother of the future; the source of yesterday.
An Island in the desert and an Island cloaked in space
Both the product of Creation that brings both life and grace.
The flow and form confirming that living tells its truth
Survival is the eloquence that gives us place on Earth
Islands rise up joyous to meet the clouds above
Testaments to powers who speak to us with love.
No. 26 Echoes of Laughter – For Roses
The moments never mentioned are filled with focused thought
Internal tools drive us with all those insights bought.
Hours deep and coddled by the raptures of the mind
Still leave an empty aching when thoughts are so inclined.
The hungered need of laughter has place in these designs.
Laughter heals and captures and tries to make us kind.
Outside the drives of intellect are other human needs
Fulfillment is the condiment that confines and leaves us free.
With laughter scented moments that issue magic in
The touch of our emotions builds bonds that make us friends.
That place of human needing that quenched can make us whole
Laughter stills that anguish when living takes its toll.
So pause to laugh and wonder, listen and reflect.
The touch we leave unsavored is waiting for us yet.
No. 27 Cadence - For Roses
In laughter scented nuance that abides when voices still
I find the best and gladdest of my hopes to be fulfilled
Reflections of the mystery that contain the choice of thought
The sequence of the hours bring their lessons truly taught.
Illusions that beguiled in the callowness now past
Have lost their force and hunger; leaving place for what will last
The touch and scent of roses and the voice that speaks delight
Both promise a redemption that restores my faith in light.
Outside the caul of reason, inside the human soul
Are all the wisps of passion that are remain the inward goal
To touch and blend the laughter, to bind the mind and heart
To rub smooth the flaws of pain and fear that shattered every part
Illusions no more comfort, the truth the cup I sip
To taste of grace of passion as I drink love from your lips.
No. 28 Hunger – Written for Roses
In the silent introspection that holds me through the night
I give space to all the shadows that disturb my forward flight
Illusions stilled in midnight seep out and leave me peace
As what remains inside me kindles mindward course into belief
In the muted blue of shadows I test these new edged thoughts
Compiling and excising mistakes my life had taught.
I touch the raw and troubled, remembered times of shame
Expunging mismade connections leave me eased of pain.
The scent of roses lingers through the houred course of night
Its promise is the misting that veils the morning light.
Cascades of time and passion fill out a past removed
As sweated, shaking, anguish drains the harsh and crude.
I thank the night for silence, for the place where lies can die.
Moving into sunrise, that heals that child's cries.
No. 29 Freedom - written to Roses
An anguish and a hunger that invades my sleep and dreams
A thirst that's always present to parch my very being.
Every breath a labor, and every thought a wound
My soul would savor freedom, my body sees its tomb.
I've built and framed the future, lived on hope and will
But the takers always find me and so the dreams are stilled.
The child of my body and the milk within my breast
All turned to acid burning that shatter home and rest.
But scent and taste of freedom still beckons from afar
Its light on the horizon is like one dying star.
Through ages gone uncounted, through years and anguished trial
My heart and soul have hungered, rejecting fates denial.
The firm hard edge of freedom that makes the world anew.
The vision from the cradle that your soul still knows as true.
The only harbor calling from beyond the silent grave.
Freedom is the rapture that only we can save.
It calls and you can hear it, if you can lose your fear
Freedom is God speaking that all of us might hear.
No. 30 Struggles that make us whole - To Roses
I found the thoughts reflected from a window glazed with gold
The thoughts curled in, enticing me, my grave seemed far less cold.
The struggle with my anguish scored both mind and heart
I rose, rejecting torment, forgave that life restart.
The struggle carved my future and the future lets me see
The fullness of the intellect, the truths that make us free
The road is long and lonely and no one knows my pain
But the Struggle is companion who asks no price or gain.
I fill the mornings moments with the tapping out of thought
I read the words I've written and see the image caught
I feel the blood still pumping and smile out through tears
Because the cost of breathing was conquering my fears.
The first and last of intellect that blend to make me whole
To pay the price of conscience and light the future's goals.
No. 31 The NeoCons
They make war on rights and freedom, undeclared but finely planned
They size up all possessions, to hone their false demands.
Laid out in detailed memos their bank accounts await.
But no amount of taking can satisfy or sate.
The NeoCons are coming to take both life and hope.
Liberty and honor, concepts beyond their scope.
The grasping and the appetites consume our very lives.
Their greeds and needs consume the Earth; excess their only guide.
The NeoCons are coming to take what is not earned
This the lesson taught them, by a past that never learned.
Dividing up the living into those with rights and not.
Destroyed the very future that our Founders lives had bought.
The human rights of women, ignored has done us in
The NeoCons are coming to punish that first sin.
No. 32 Sharp Shadows
The languid ease of autumn with harvest taken in
reminds me life has slumbered, still waiting to begin.
A glow and gaud redeem me, the leaves hold heart and eyes
The crimson flush of color speaks in tones I once despised.
The lungs can ache with needing for air to heat the blood
The mind can hunger also, for hands both wise and rough
Within the soul immortal the beat of both pulse on
The mind and heart communicate, neither right nor wrong.
And the shadows, sharp and savage, remind me life will end
Within the cusp of living the will must learn and bend.
And canopies of autumn spread out across the lawn
Their colors gold and wanton, their life is nearly gone
I welcome fall and shadows the harvest gold and true.
As symbols and intentions their message still is you.
No. 33 Coalition
Ideas the drive our actions and disguise our common dreams
A chasm dredged and widened through the cleverest of schemes.
Ideas, the human tooling for structures of the mind
Translated into factions they steal and kill and blind.
Ideas from minds forgotten, ideas that linger on
Ideas that ooze with power even when they're wrong.
Ideas have maimed and murdered through every human state
Ideas have stolen freedom with deceits that feed a false debate.
To see the truth behind them, rebuilding human dreams
Accepting each as equal rejecting what demeans.
Filling in the chasms that divide all kinds of men.
The vision of a future that freedom must demand.
A coalition meeting to hear and think and see
Ideas of common future that serve to make us free.
No. 34 The Metronome of Houred Time – for Roses
The pulsing beat of minutes, number out my life
limits and a liberty that speak of love and strife
And lips unkissed reproach me for all I have not done
The slow dried petals slumber, each touched by perfect sun.
Life stretches out and slumbers, remitting misspent dreams
And moments filled with silence both promise and demean.
The petals smell of passion and promise an embrace
While moments die untasted and leave no touch or trace.
For I remember laughter and the nuance of your hand
As moments pass untasted because of life's demands.
Ideas that fill and sate me still leave my flesh in need
You, the pleasure beckons to hold or only tease?
The days of life hold anguish but also seeds of hope
That passion soar and blossom, fulfilling both our scopes.
No. 35 The Subtleties of Silver; the Intricacies of Gold
Their sheen reflects our passions and the greeds of human need
Inciting love and hatred they hold and always tease.
The Noble metals harbored within the Earth, our home
Reflect us, great and vile, a mirror stark and dumb.
The noble and the common within each human heart
Find the place eternal from which all moments start
They struggle for survival; they chart the futured past
Repeating all the conflicts they forge our living last.
On footed souls were seek them; we struggle to possess
The metals test our mettle until the moment we divest.
Through intellect and hungers we justify our goals
While fulfillment slips through fingers and fails to make us whole.
True metals in the moment when heart and soul are one
The Earth the place of testing, a testing just begun.
No. 36 The Glaze of Thought
In twists and turns of turbulence that stretch my very seams
The fabric of reality converges with my dreams
And the glaze of thought awakens and the future rushes in
The endings and beginnings, in thought, are closest kin.
The rapture of remembering, the hot sharp touch of mind
Each component to assemble the final phase of every kind.
In the birth of morning silence and the death of scented rose
Are the elements eternal that no one can ever know.
As the shadows bend oncoming every nuance, every truth
Votes its echoed coming from decrepitude to youth
The first and last reversal that laughs at dreams undone
Remembers the renewal when all of us were One.
Out of many splintered moments in orgasmic rush to Mind.
The weaving threads in each of us converge as the Design.
No. 37 A Christmas Wish for Roses
The echoed light of laughter,
The heart-held peace that lasts
The glaze of hope unsullied
Holding futures and our past.
A smile lit with trusting
A home that draws love in
Gifts extending and adjusting
That invite us to be kin.
A world of balanced yearnings
A world that makes us one
Unnumbered threads a-weaving
Around one living sun.
The cycled year recalls us to view our lives anew
To speak our hopes most private and make those visions true.
No. 37 Christmas Memory of early February
His Presence felt for ages before the Birth Divine
His summoning of sages compelled both love and crimes
His Spirit drove and forged us
His Plan to make us One
Became the underscore oncoming
Its chorus still unsung.
The Rapture still invoking
Both tears and heady sight
A throughline of becoming
Bringing fear and rare delight.
His Smile lit the ages with a Love that never dies
That remains the wages that sustains us through the lies.
His Birth to Mary called us to know the harshest grief
But dying within his holding is the first and perfect peace.
No. 38 Self Discovery
To see the past as present in the shadow of your soul
To know the truth repugnant and change your furthest goal
To ache with tears unsummoned and accept your desperate fear
Life's challenge and the ravaging are what you should hold dear.
The anguishes of failure and the pain of misspent love
The spirit bound in flesh and mind; the hand within the glove.
Reproofs unearned and wrenching, the loss of every hope
Fractures on the glaze of trust with which you cannot cope.
All tempering and burning; the fire burns out dross
In the crucible of living nothings really lost.
So take my hand, I'll lead you into the molten core
The burning is not pleasant but it must not be ignored.
On the journey made internal is the battle to be won
To the place where the eternal, in peace, will make us One.
No. 39 The Flavors of Reality
The languid mood of winter, releasing me from fear
Excites the premonitions that excises hope most dear.
I do not trust your fervor and I doubt that love is real.
Your eyes look past my needing, and glint with tones of steel.
My skin remembers passion; my mind reproves my need
The eloquence excepting, releasing me to grieve.
For trust is never useful in relationships of love
The needing and the seeking makes squabs of every dove.
I've felt your fingers fondle me in mind and bodied place
I've steeped myself in passion and extolled your every grace
In mind our lovings happened while in truth its my disgrace
Behind the shield of inference, we never did embrace.
I've loved an age in waiting and I've known your lips as mine
But in the clutch of winter I've found you less than kind.
Because I want that closeness I step back and then I sneer.
Passions cup is waning and every day less dear.
I love the patterned thinking that traces mind in you
But I doubt its couraged content having found you less that true.
No. 40 Cascades of Truth
In the silence of the night time when the soul is free to see
I taste the past-made corridors that forged my destiny.
Like torrents unrelenting they bring both truth and grief
Clarify and sanctify what time has made of me.
In the place of honor, where all my lives are one.
I see the real beginnings where assumptions are undone.
And I laugh as tears undo me, I grieve for what is known
As Time still makes and so infuses me with what I did not own.
The love of him who touched me with ideas that sealed my fate
Leaving to the dust bin other courses that elate.
For him, the source of thinking, for him the source of lies
I find the cause and sacrament that only Gods despise.
The laughter and the longing remain with me through time
And change the course of thinking, all human and divine.
No. 41 Listen to Me
Divided by the lies and greeds of them who grasp at power
Our lives and love divided to grieve the fall of towers.
I've missed the referenced moment when you spoke your best belief
And wandered in the desert, weighted down with soul torn grief.
I'm woken in the night time, wanting your lost touch
I've anguished for the moments that felt might lead to lust.
I need the skin close nuance that stops the flow of time
And known in those sparse moments your place in my designs.
The flow of raptured memories will never wait or grieve.
The moments are for taking, fulfilling all our needs.
I wakened to the closeness of one whose really there
And cancels out the anguish of lives filled with despair.
This night is arching onward towards reunion with the light
And only you and I will know if its arching brings delights.
No. 42 Out of Many, One
Out of choices made in passion and from thoughts distilled in time
Come the weavings that define us and determine the Design.
For us to set the boundaries of the world where humans live
For us to mark our roles with thought; determine what we give.
The forward thrust of living, the actions humans take
Determine lives unstarted beyond the last debate.
And the many go on weaving through the choices each will make
Affirming or revoking the structures of the State.
And from that vast profusion writ in blood, and living will
Shall echo out our future action, to survive or maybe kill.
The structures we have fashioned from our needs and appetites
Will speak our timetold truthing, both to shame and to delight.
And from this sea of savagery, from survival and through grief
All will come together, made as One through shared beliefs.
No. 43 For Roses wondering, the delights of passion
The choices made in passion touch the tenderest resort
Where each of us is singular, confronting life's first torts.
Our passions will define us to the farthest edge of life
And passion is the lever point; conjoining all our sight.
Through mind and through emotion to a place we've never been
We strain to see the outline, discerning closest kin
The interface uniting us in spirit, body, mind
Tells the anguish and the raptures, making up our own design.
I tell you of the passions that continue all our lives
The pulse of hope and anguish that considered make us wise
The conduit for intellect; the voice that speaks our needs
The insight that accepted bring us up and to our knees.
I'll tell you of the passions that may start on naked skin
But when truist simmer through us lending strength to make amends.
No. 44 For Roses – Caught in Thought
Through the shadows on the spirit that send anguish through the spine
The paths that weave life's magic also lend their flow to minds
And minds fracture and refine us producing worlds of many kinds
To beckon and extend us as we seek the source sublime.
The journey of an hour that extends to ages long
Our life, a blink of moment, stilled inside a note of song
Extensions of the power and the rapture of our need
Each a true expression that each spirit learns to heed.
Our passions weave in wonder to the pulsing that is life
They merge our thoughts and hungers, elemental in device.
Our passions sate and fill us, staving off the touch of death
And grant us glad delections with a touch that spans life's breadth.
The truist of our passions merge the mind and give us scope
To move beyond the anguish that extinguished lesser hope.
No. 45 Assumptions and the State where I met Roses
In an effluence of comments on the markets never free
Discourse rising and reacting to the tones of miseries
Invoked by fraud and violence from those trusted with all power
At a conference of the intellect, attendees sad and dour.
In a place of academics living in a sheltered place of mind
The discourse never reaches, never bends the State's design.
For the human action pulses with the weaving lives and wills
Of people who will never read the Austrian appeals.
Be cautious of the structures that you build inside the State
Be careful to remember that assumptions steal and take
Remake your own conclusions, never questioned that enslave
All structures of exclusion dig for liberty a grave.
Free the choices stricken from a world bound up with lies
Unchain the mind and spirit so our choices aren't denied.
No. 46 Meetings in the Mind and Heart
A place for meeting focuses, we see our future dreams
We pause to reconnoiter, to consider errant schemes.
The searing touches rendered, the gasp of pulsing skin,
Sensations to remember, delights that lead us in.
A million places beckon us, to sate our hidden needs
Question what your needs demand and what those yearnings breed.
A cause, a quest, that calls us to a life in human form
Emancipating human hopes; from this a future born.
Weight the full course beckoning and count off hidden costs
The consequence of harbored hopes can also carry loss.
Temptations of the body; hungers of the soul,
Justify those ugly acts that leave us less than whole.
The hardest and most precious gift, the only one that lasts
We bring its print along with us, engraved in soul made pasts.
To live a life of honor; to keep the record clean
To stand before the the One Who Knows, proud of every scene.
The dross of life is counted in deceit and misspent hours.
The forge of living burns out dross; leaving our true power.
The satin touch of passion, sensations that most please.
The cost in honor lost to us could leave our souls to freeze.
No. 47 The Playground
On the playground of their childhoods, where they struggled to fit in
The men we know as NeoCons faced derision without end.
Asocial and too clumsy to excel at any sport.
They learned to use deception to survive and to extort.
Feel pity for their anguish, they trembled with that pain
And swore to change their status; it left them less than sane.
They lost themselves in fancy; they lived on dreams of power
They studied all the rule books and deception left them sour.
Through the angst of viewing what other men could do.
Building edifice most dour to make their dreams come true
Assembling their tools with persuasion and with guile
Philosophy and policy converted to beguile
Grasping and consuming; their souls without a song
Arrested in their boyhoods, unable to move on
Their stunted souls inform us if we take time to see
The fate of all such takers, their ugly destiny.
See beyond the glitter as they putrefy within
All tyrants throughout history recognize their kin.
No. 48 Love and Need
The ripples of your laughter, the insights that inform
The touch of thoughts inciting, ideas beyond the norms.
The shape of worlds oncoming from thoughts that make us kin
These, the magic interludes that differences amend.
Excitement sealing happiness that carries me through time
The smiles, these evoking, that embrace our whole design
As thoughts sublime and pungent, change the landscape of the mind
You, the one who shares these things, underscores each line.
The world of mind is opened through touches that delight
Bringing peace and promise to extend the edge of sight.
And the rapture and the inferences embrace of whole of life
To know and to remember, rejecting what is strife.
The love of cherished honor, the tones of life lived right
Remain the choice of passion that flourishes in light.
No. 49 Human Action, Warping Passions - for Roses cause he asked
In digs through human detritus from events removed in time
Reassembled like the pottery, that shattered, conceal design.
The hungers and the urges that decided what has been
Also serve to show and tell us; to speak the souls of men.
Their greeds drove them to hunger and their greeds determined lives
Their greeds reached out to ravish as conquest fed their drives.
The base, the ugly lustings to acquire what is not earned
Deceit and base coercion was the lesson they best learned.
With blandished words, well monied, from the well-heels halls of power
Came Cato and Ed's cabal to grasp and to devour.
The tools of oppression Crane would see arrayed
So Rothbard was ejected and the Milton card was played.
Ideas affirming freedom could not be left in play
So the Austrians were muted, their force of truth delayed.
And who will count the losses, and who will pay the cost?
And who is left to understand the bottom line of loss?
Debasing words of honor used to mean the soul inborn
The freedoms we all cherished, converted, burned with scorn.
Autonomy indwelling in each denied by law
To profit cancered egos that demanded wealth by claw.
The list of ugly takers, writ long, remember well
Their names defamed the Vision that condemns their souls to hell.
50. Rare Delight
Micro motion mending our divides of thought and peace
Actions weave in wonders from lives both spare and brief.
A billion thoughts refining; one man will never see
A wave both deep and arching directs our destiny.
Tectonic shifts that echo; change that moves towards hope
Tiny fractures that bring healing, enlarging promised scope.
Reflecting light and darkness, catching half built dreams.
The futures still for making and forsaking what demeans.
The onward rush of passion and the subtle lines of time
All of these are written in the frame of the design.
All of us now living, and all of us to be
All of us now dead and gone within the frame of WE.
In incremental anguish and through the pall of night.
Each of us makes choices, bringing grief and rare delight.
51. From Shards to Light - for John Hix
From an insight of convenience they drew marks on shards of clay
The goats and sheep and cheeses thus were counted up each day.
And trader's lives were better, as barter was replaced.
With mites of fired pottery that bore each items face.
The marks and shards were money; more fungible to hold
So trade and space were easier; what was owned was sold.
But then a cunning taker thought to make his own
The shards went out of favor, replacing coin wrot gold
Issued first by temple and then anointed King
So fungible the medium it built a wealth in things.
Accumulation beckoned the greedy onto thrones.
Through money all were shackled, the people could be owned.
A flow of current holdings, in increments of gold
Created flow of currency, and ever more was sold.
But men saw ways of stealing from weight the coins would buy.
So England then replaced them, their coins had reeded edge.
Clipping and the shaving, made obvious instead.
Money called and promised, so fluid in its scope.
Kings and those in power wrote promises on notes.
Temptations to debasement, temptations to inflate.
Became the real foundation of the governmental state.
And money still enticed us, and draws in those who steal.
Finessing, redefining, the units once were real.
Now with no foundation in sheep or even cheese
The money is all funny, and only Kings are pleased.
The flow of human commerce, so easy to abuse.
Is still the form adopted, that all of us must use
We count up paper icons, inscribed with those now gone.
We trust in those who make them, despite the fact their wrong.
We need the fluid functions that money can provide.
While all the self anointed kings count, and so decide.
52. Magic Money
With opinings and definings the presses clack and run
The FED announces numbers that make our minds grow numb.
The complexities of money make thievery a joy
Alan loved the power, Ayn's first money boy.
Its owners, all so nameless, ensure they pump us dry.
By transfers and with interest that makes the widows cry.
And marks on pages tally the figures that expand
As “available for loaning” reaches to the most demand.
From banks and institutions that conspire with the FED
The piles of the dollars shrink and leave us fully bled.
Expanded to a magnitude that boggles those who see
The FED prints funny money, and consumes lives yet to be.
A con game still ongoing, rapacious to consume
Expand supply, disguise the lie, and lead us on to doom.
The flow and flux of money, that eats the truth and land
A set up for a taking we all will understand.
The sound of tiny popping, as price makes its decline
Shrinking all horizons, as interest rates still climb.
A future of our choosing?
A con game finally done?
The final trump infusing
The truth we've been so dumb?
The money game is reaching its final stage of life
Leaving in its passing a people locked in strife.
No. 53 Tension and Ease - for Mary and Joseph Stromberg
The tempo and the tension envelopes every thought
Sound and seething interruptions leave you empty and distraught
The surging tide of living that leaves us less than sane
While we forget to find the silence that cancels out our pain.
The silence caught and carried in the place behind the wind
Excises all the tensions, the place where peace begins
Always there awaiting our need to draw it in.
The Silence, heals us inward, the first and perfect Friend.
When cacaphonies uprising rend the inner peace
In the silence of the windward I go to take my ease.
There, I touch the surety that we will never die.
And shrug off the assumptions that carry fear and lies.
In the Silent place of meeting, behind the sound of Wind.
I wrap myself in raptures that speak the truth of Him.
Inside the vault of thinking that that tightens every day
The buttressing of intellect constricts, its price unpaid.
Providing moat and monolith, outside the world careens
And greyness coalesces bringing fear to inner being.
Inside the Fortress Rockwell, ideas grow sparse and thin
The Giants have receded, new chapters can't begin.
The easy way that beckoned was a cul de sac of time
Delightful in its resonance, it justified old crimes.
Inside the sad and lonely, outside the core of truth
Stark and hard the pathway that now his mind must rue.
Evasions come with price tags; demand to be made whole
Count out that truth in coinage that leaves gouges in the soul.
The gold of truth still beckons, to eyes that dare to see
Remember in life's winter you chose this destiny.
Wealth through Stealth
Through monied tones positioned to imply what is not true
The band of Catoed cronies have counted up their due.
They centralized the power selling rhetoric and lies
The cause of freedom canceled for all that money buys.
A home nearby a golf course, the trinkets and delights
An SUV, Ferraris, their luxuries excite.
The shallow married simply to rewrite life anew
So recent from the Ozarks, they gleam with Mountain Dew.
Changing law and custom to suit the Kochs who pay
Their projects kept oncoming causing much dismay
No John Galt imagined the stealthy way they work
Laundering the lucre, just one employment perk.
They saw the future shimmer, their stealth campaigns coining gold
Until one lonely blogger dug in and truth was told.
The HowieDom was outraged, for Heroes don't need rules
Laws are good for other folks, for them they're only tools.
The Blogger came Oregon, dug out their cheats and lies
He published on his blogpage, it could not be denied.
They vilified and sputtered, they ranted and they screamed
The Blogger kept on writing, unwinding every scheme.
Exposed in all their smugness, the myths they lived by shrink
The smallness of their visions would make a cockroach blink.
The Unelected wilted, grew quiet on the web,
Will they find truth as last, when all their lies are said?
Flowers Never Ask or tell. But we do. For Mary and Joe.
Their fragrance speaks its presence, the scent draws life through time
They live in place to propagate, send on their own design.
The generative organs that blossom in the light
Are message of the plant world, saying No to endless night.
That single act of courage that cancels out life's end
The Yes to all tomorrows, the truth that all life sends.
That passage speaks its honor, in acts we understand
And builds the common harbor that binds their lives to Man.
The gatherers were working, the flower caught her eye.
Its beauty made her wonder, she picked and watched it die.
The round of living taught her, the flower came each year.
Each phase, each catch of moment, remembered, not yet clear.
She saw as time brought changes, petals wilted, seed pod swelled.
The seeds, the shoots, the leaves unfurled, the stories all lives tell.
The petals gathered, tasted, the seeds that bring renewal.
Its struggles unrelenting, survival hard and cruel.
The woman heard the flower and understanding what was said.
She learned to reverence living, and all the cycles bred.
The woman told her daughter, showed her what she knew
This the first foretelling that all Earth's lives are true.
Valentines of Memory - Valentine's Day, 2007, for Dawn, Ayn, Arthur, Justin and Abagail.
Embossed on paper posies, the hearts of joyous pause
Remind me of the yesterdays, still able to enthrall.
The tiny hands that labored to cut out paper hearts.
The scrawls that spoke affection; where loving had its start.
I smile to remember the valentines they made
The savored sweets delighted; that sweetness now replayed.
I remember wrapping the tiny, little toys
Laying out surprises so eyes would light with joy.
Across the time and distance,
through months and years compiled
The small delights still linger
To warm me and beguile.
A day of celebration, of love that links our hearts
Exalting and extending the truth we'll never part.
58. Answer to Woven Moments - Written for Paul Schauble
This fractious pause of moment lends us place and time to live
Within the folds of spirit, actions choose what gifts to give.
In structures we assemble from the thoughts life has derived
Is human course and focus wrought, to nurture and surprise.
In tumbled falls of laughter and in silence thin and harsh
Through tumult and in triumph, time holds all in forward march
Towards a distant vision that none of us will see
We, the ones who dream it, ensure that it will be.
The threads within a weaving; the loom a mystery
The spinning done inside of us, to make us truly free
The Weaver knows and smiles for all the dreams are true
Each mote of thread a miracle, ancient and yet new.
One within the Answer we never thought to ask
Together flowing onward, becoming One at last.
The Victory – For Communications
Secure all the conduits through which will flow our thoughts
The pulse of innovation that spurs each time we talk.
The weaving of each echo, the knitting of each meme
Each its own reflection inciting wit most keen.
From facts of nature honing the form that time will hold.
Coalesces all that's borning, as all of us were told.
The ties of truth won't rupture, the lessons long since learned
Become the stone and mortar on which the future turns.
The potter and the chemist, the weaver at her loom
Each a part entoning to blend one arching tune.
The melody evoking the echoes never heard
By ears that miss the magic inside the mote of Word.
The whole symphonic blending that brings the cup of peace.
To lips that taste completion in victory's last release.
60. Crazy to be sane – written for RH
It's happening now
Crazy! That's all they know
Billions of people, the power they own
The matrix they're growing
The slavery their sowing.
Crazy, living off me.
All of us see
The moment we wake
Grids from the cradle
Do nothing but take.
Knowing it drives me
The darkness and fear
I scream as I see it
They laugh and they leer.
Crazy, or maybe I'm sane
Seeing the faces
Inside of the Game
The rage fires action
That burns through the pain
Crazy, or maybe its you
Don't listen to pundits, don't cling to the lies
Their words sell the matrix, install it inside
Clear your mind and you'll see it
Rip the mask off your eyes.
Crazy, no, their words are still lies.
Take back America, hold on to your mind
Live for a future that's loving and kind
Cancel the matrix, scream out your NO!
They all know it coming, they brace for the blow.
Inside there is power, inside of your mind
Refuse to cooperate, refuse to be blind.
Take back your power, unplug from the wall
This is the hour, hear us who call.
Crazy – to keep living that way
We all come together, we smash the machine
Action is justice that changes the scene.
Crazy – to keep living for lies
Crazy – when they're all we despise.
Crazy – when enough realize.
When enough realize.
Crazy to remain insane
Crazy to remain insane.
No. 61 America Needs Ron Paul
Welcome to America enmeshed in fear and greed
Our lives are gone, we're bankrupt
The jobs all overseas.
Privatizing pundits have sold out you and me.
It’s time we had some layoffs in Washington D.C.
No more crooked Congressmen
It’s time to bounce them all
Let’s end the war,
We know the score
America Needs Ron Paul
The corporations fleece us
Of every cent we earn
No end in sight on the horizon
They steal at every turn
The White House and the Media
Sell us lies that never end
Consuming every trust and hope
- We need to start again.
The time has come for changing
Our appointed destiny
Turn back this tide of slavery
- Demand that we be free.
Gonna get back on our feet again,
Back to standing tall
It’s time to climb off of the grids,
America Needs Ron Paul
You know Ron loves America
He spoke out for us all
His courage is his testament
America Needs Ron Paul.
Alone he stood for justice
They called him Dr. NO.
He spoke the words we would not hear
America Needs Ron Paul
Alone he spoke against the war
Demanding we not go
We hear him now , so many dead
America Needs Ron Paul.
When the coffins started coming
We saw that he was right
They sold us all a bill of goods
Endless days of night.
Their boogie man, al Qaeda
To make us fear the dark
Their war machine of profit.
Consuming all we'd start.
Ron will stop the killing
End their flag-wrapped fraud
We'll stop paying Caesar,
But tender unto God
One dime from every dollar
It’s time that we paid less
Cancel form 1040
– and stop the IRS!
No more lying leadership,
Gonna change things in the fall
America’s on a roll again
With the courage of Ron Paul
Back up on our feet again,
Back to standing tall
Together off the Grids of Greed
America needs Ron Paul
Gonna jail the ones who did it
Gonna get them every one.
In the court of truth we'll judge them
With verdict or with gun
Gonna get back on our feet again,
Back to standing tall
Off the grids and on a roll
America has Ron Paul.
62. Punctuated Journey - Clive
As vibrations that remind us of the place we yearn to be
We clasp the measured moments that become our destiny.
The touches that awaken the best we find within.
Become the gifts of living, allowing us to blend.
Through our anguish and our rages, through the grinding down of pain
Through discernment and through tempering we discover we are sane.
Most calculated tortures become the challenge that can heal
As life takes on its burnish and makes our living real.
We sense a presence beckoning, the silence yet to be.
Arms that hold and comfort, locked in and always free.
The path is often rocky, the shards can slash our skin
But on the Path we find ourselves, know the pain will end.
Inside the journey calls us to love and never fear
Sensing as love warms us that death is always near
The change from bodied being to freedom of the soul
The journeys ever onward remain both goad and goal
Sublime the raptured joining within God's only Son
Intensity in moments that remind us all are One.
63. New Beginnings
Our framing is illusion that we blend from mind borne dreams
No part of human action is therefore as it seems.
Anchored in the mystic that twines itself through life
We blend in every moment, all our joy and endless strife.
The clan, the tribe, the nation, the church we use to pray
Each of these illusion, so we can live each day.
The framing, once agreed on, becomes like tempered steel
So changing it is costly, each increment, ordeal
Constricting structures comfort, can maim and also heal
But none have true existence, none of them are real.
Reach out to what is fluid, touch what brings you joy.
The framing we call Freedom, is soul and mind alloyed.
And revolution calls you to risk while still you can
To find the true connections that made us truly Man.
All of life is weaving, its beauties, subtle, teach.
Each nuance holds an echo of what we've yet to reach.
Our path, not straight or narrow, the future, dim, unseen.
My steps remember yesterdays, both honored and demeaned.
And words, they can connect us, or shred all hope of peace.
Incite and also cage us; they limit and release.
All the words constructed to stretch our scope of mind
Echoes of the vision that, embraced, will make us kind.