Beneath the Wreckage

Beneath the Wreckage 3

Beneath the Wreckage

If I could just be…
Yes, that is a complete thought…
Have you ever wanted to just be?
To be one with the Universe
And nothing else?
Yet…
Most of us don’t know how to
Just be…
Some can’t even linger in the sound
Of their own breath
Many must have the constant noise
Of their world
Surrounding them at all times…
It seems that our world is making it
More and more difficult
To find the silence
That would allow us to bide
In the peacefulness within us
To hear the voice inside us
Knowing what is right
And what is wrong…
To hear the cries of the child
Longing to be free
Beneath the wreckage…

Yet…
There are those of us
Who are searching
In silent understanding
The runes of wisdom
Still lingering
In the transcendence
Of other worlds
Perhaps…
Possessing truths
Of immortality…

If I could just be…
To be one with the universe
And nothing else…
If I could just linger
In the sound of my own breath
For just
One
Mere
Moment
Without time
Without prejudice
Without conjecture
Of what is…
And what is not…
Perhaps…
I could hear
That voice inside
That knows
What is right
And what is wrong…
The truths of our humanness…
The answer to all questions
Of immortality…
And perhaps…
In silent understanding…
I would search
No more…

Namasté

Michael33

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In Timeless Breath

In Timeless Breath 2

In Timeless Breath

He walked on clouds before the dawn
Before the sparrow’s morning yawn
While shadows wait their virgin birth
And mortals search for peace on Earth

He climbed the oaks where cougar prowl
To hear the haunting panther’s howl
When moonlight shadows cross the ground
The mortal breath… dare make a sound

He wandered pathways lined in thorn
Where fate had failed what love adorned
As shadows passed through mystic hush
Immortal hues from lovers blush

He soared above the crimson light
Where nothing rhymed in black and white
No shadows shade the fated pen
No guilt, no hate, no mortal sin

He traveled life upon this earth
Till life is death… and death is birth
Penned from shadowed thoughts of wonder
In timeless breath… from distant thunder

Michael33

Etchings

Fantasy landscape 2

Etchings

I found the etchings you left for me
Though I’d looked in all the wrong places
Beyond the horizon
Across the sky
For words in cold dark spaces

In scattered thoughts and photographs
Laid frail in a cardboard box
Left hidden neath the hardwood floor
Behind the skeleton clocks

But then I found the words you left
Where dawn touched marbled stones
The troth you never whispered here
Left etched above your bones

Michael33

In Shades of Ecru

Shades of Ecru (2 33's)

In Shades of Ecru

Why not write them down?
Are you afraid they will scare someone?
They’re only thoughts
No
Perhaps not thoughts of normality
But still
They are words that could be
Written on the wall…
Perhaps not of a museum
No
Not in a library…
Not on walls freshly painted
In shades of
Ecru…
But maybe upon the walls
Scribbled amongst the
Cracked
Faded
Paint
Of a house without a verse
With only the sound
Of voices
Left behind…
Perhaps a house lingering a bit
Well…
Enchanted…
Perhaps if you etch your words
Deep into the wall
You will discover the poetry of others
Who came before you
Those who penned their own
Peculiarities
Upon that very wall…
Perhaps when they were
Freshly painted…
In shades of
Ecru

Namasté

Michael33

Painters of Poets

Painters of Poets

Painters of Poets

Painters of Poets

Lost in a world
Of words
Of rhymes
Verses bastilled in his mind
Thoughts on the canvas
Of love
Of life
Lost in the portrait unsigned

For who is the poet
With parchment
With pen
In lines with a silver strand
And who is the painter
With palette
With grace
A trace of the artist’s hand

So, who must they be
These painters of poets
Who capture one moment in time
To look past the veil
And touch all that’s frail
Painting the poet unrhymed

Namasté

Michael33

Thoughts

Thoughts 4 ABCD 1

Thoughts

What if our thoughts became real
Before we had time to conceal
The parts of the thought
We know we should not
Allow the whole truth to reveal

What if our thoughts were out loud
Where silence was never allowed
Would it stir the mind
To thinking more kind
Or leave us all mute in the crowd

What if your thoughts I could hear
The sound of your mind in my ear
Would you then share a smile
And converse for awhile
Or just shit your pants in the fear

Namasté

Michael33

 

On Brown Paper Bags

Brown Paper Bag 1

On Brown Paper Bags

I love the tattered parchment
That you wear to veil your heart
Naked of the poetry
With any scent of your desire…
Frayed upon the edges…
Brittled by the smoke
Still lingering from the fire

Yet I have seen you
Running through wildflowers…
Smiling
Through your paper façade…
Lying in the weeds
Exposed through the parchment
Ravaged by the thorns
You so willingly shepherd…
The softest of skin
Glowing in the sunlight
As if offering yourself
To the Gods…
Your breast
Yearning…
For just one single taste
Of tenderness…

Though you cover yourself
In delicate crepe
I can see
Through the translucent hues
Of one so tightly wrapped
In reticence
Longing for the hand of another
To scribe upon your heart
Just one single rhyme
Without reflection

Yet you hide neath
Your parchment
Bare of verse
While your ballad
Still echoes cross
Bright colored pages…
Left crumpled and hushed
In whispers
Neath your breath

Perhaps if you could just
B   r   e   a   t   h   e  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
In the first blush of dawn…
Linger tween the lines
You’ve drawn
On brown paper bags…
You would find your parchment
No longer bare
Of the poetry
That lingers in your heart…
Lyrics of the rain…
Symphonies of light
From neath the shadows…
For what is borne
Of circumstance
No longer hides the face
Behind the hand
Yet offers parchment bare…
To dare the truth…

Namasté

Michael33