Without Holes

Without Holes 4

Without Holes

Crap…
I stepped in it again
In the only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…
Left for me to find
Outside my door
By some animal
Without conscience
Probably hiding
Across the street
Behind the bushes…
Laughing…

This isn’t the first time
I’ve stepped in it
Heavens no…
I once stepped in it
On my way to meet
The Queen
But it was then
That I was barefoot
And walked very near
To the stream
So I could easily
Cleanse my sole

Once I didn’t realize
I had stepped in it
And carried it with me
Amongst the others…
They kept their distance
Sneering and laughing
Behind my back
All the while
The only reasoning
I could presume
For their repudiation
Of my presence
Was that I must have
Forgotten to wear
The only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…

But that was in the day
When my olfactories
Were impaired
And surely…
Surely…
I would be forgiven
For the mere fact
That I did not know
What I had done
Walking outside
The edges of the garden
Stepping deeply
Into a pile
Of feculence
Left hidden in the grass
By some animal
Without conscience
Hiding behind the bushes…
Laughing…

Perhaps that is my purpose…
To step in it…
To be ridiculed
By the others
For walking where
They would never dream
To touch their
New shiny shoes
Against the soil…
Choosing instead
To stand upon
Their sacred elitist ground
In a crowd of others
Proud to display
A pretentious pompous ass

Though I may
Step in it…
Again and again…
I will always walk
Away from the crowd
That chooses
To ignore
Or belittle
The light
That shines
From one without shoes…
Or one that is willing
To step in the crap
In search of something different…
In the only pair of shoes I own…
Without holes

Michael33

 

Through Winter Borne Branches

Through winter borne Branches 4

Through Winter Borne Branches

The first light of morn
Just blushed
Through winter borne branches
Of the oaks 
The eastern sky
Painting the hues
Of a new day…
The western horizon
Lingering
In darkness
Lost 
In the breathless conversations
Of yesterday

Between what has passed
And what is to come
Lies all that is beautiful
In this
One
Single
Moment
Without time
Upon the wall –
No shadows
Down the hall
In their indifference

The morning’s first yawn
Just brushed
My wizened face
Eyes
Upon the eastern sky
Withered hands
Reaching
For the canvas
Of early morn…
Horizons of the west
Behind me
Left silent
In their solitude
To dwell
Forever after
In yesterday’s
Misgivings…

While I –
Unveiled
Before the dawn –
In this
One
Single
Moment
Without time
Of sifting sand –
No rhymes
Upon my hands
In their indifference –
Stand beneath
The winter borne branches
Of the oaks –
Between
What has passed
And what is to come –
And inhale –
Deep into my being
One
Single
Breath
Of immortality

Michael33

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

On Billowing Cloud

On Billowing Cloud

On Billowing Cloud

I stood on the edge of a billowing cloud
Looking down at the winter wheat
Dancing so gracefully
To the symphony of a morning breeze…
The colors of miracles
Weaving their threads of wonder
Cross fields of light
While the first blush of dawn
Touched ever so softly
The tender tips of grain…

It was a most beautiful morning…
It would be a magnificent day…
For I had seen the world
Through eyes beyond my mortal blues
And touched the sky
With ageless hands of innocence…

Namasté

Michael33

Keepers of the Gate

Keepers of the gate 4

Keepers of the Gate

I called upon the universe
To show me heaven’s gate
So I would know just what it’s like
When I fulfill my fate

I know there must be forests fare
And lavender in bloom
With streams as clear as crystal jewels
Or that’s what I presumed

But what they showed was up ahead
Seemed clouded by the mist
It’s difficult to pen the verse
Where time does not exist

They drove me down a highway lined
With mortals left with thirst
And said to me “You tend to them,
It matters not the verse”

They showed me homes in rubbled ruin
From hate
From war
From greed
Where people pray on bended knee
Their souls left there to bleed

I found myself where I once lived
Saw homeless in the rain
More difficult to pass them by
When you can feel their pain

I flew with angels to a land
Where babies fought for breath
And children live out in the cold
To dance with certain death

So this is heaven, I inquired
Of keepers of the gate
They said,
“Old man…
Please understand
That angel wings have weight”

Perhaps we’re here upon this Earth
To find how love relates
And share what earthly wings we bear
With those of lesser fate

Namasté

Michael33

Echoes of Silence

Echoes of Silence 1

Echoes of Silence

Perhaps he has indeed gone mad
Though sanity just made him sad
His gaze gets lost in colors born
With blush of dawn in early morn

Though sense he cannot make of breath
Yet lingers not in mortal death
For he has wandered far beyond
Where marrow sips from earthly ponds

His silence echoes through the room
Musing fields of lilac blooms
He dreams of runes upon the wall
In rhymes of love he often scrawled

Perhaps he hasn’t gone insane
Wandering thoughts just rearranged
Perhaps he lingers worlds unknown…
Perhaps his soul’s already flown

Namasté

Michael33

The Empty Room

Tunnel cat 1 A

The Empty Room

Like sitting in an empty room… Alone
Fragments of imagination
Confused in segments of time
No words to lift the eyes from the floor
Nor rhymes upon the wall
The mind of the poet in scattered runes
No heart to pen the scrawl

Yet light shines through the crystal pane
The touch of rainbow hues
Prisms formed from dawn’s first blush
Reflections from the dew
Are miracles born in morning’s light
Does hope arrive with dawn
Are answers borne in morning’s mist
Before the lines are drawn

The candle’s light is growing dim
Yet shadows wash the wall
Dancing soft in silent rooms
Like spirits down the hall
When lanterns dim, no whispers hush
Illusions on the ceiling
Do voices call me to the “Light”
Or offer me their healing

The silence stirs the empty room
Like wind upon the willow
Crumpled quilts on beggared berth
No face upon the pillow
Fragments of imagination
Lost in grains of time
But love that bides within the soul
Still lingers in the rhyme

Namasté

Michael33

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