changing

The shifting of things
from one place to another,
renewed yet familiar,
all too familiar.
The passing of one
to another
in silent acknowledgment
of what was
and what will be
to be known again
in the past.
A sadness rushes into the void
left by the parting
for the hope unrecognized
lending itself to tomorrow.
It's just the way it is, and will always be,

changing.

only way

tending this and that
perhaps looking for god
or the devil in cracks and crevices
praying a clue reveals

i hear the past in my mind,
a faded picture show
barely holding my attention anymore,
did i live that life?

i wonder, as i reach
for another bit
of chocolate for my tongue,

time can stretch a memory so thin,
that its precious intentions
are brutally birthed
into an unyielding atmosphere,
its gold-gathering tarnish
the only sign of their unwontedness

meaning holds no meaning,
it only wedges a splinter
in the milky white flesh of a foot
reminding it exists for existence sake,
a moment of contrast creating
the illusion of truth

its the only way

a while

its first touch
is soothing,
cool and calm,
an answer to a question
sought for so long.
As its embrace continues
around toes and knees,
back and arms,
the comfort
imbibes the soul,
and a long anticipated
sigh releases
from the darkness.

it's fine.
for a while.

Time beckons rising
and what was comfortable
around the waist is now
attempting comfort
around the chest,
and soon it creeps
up to the neck
as the toes straighten
to lessen the strain.

still breathing.

and its fine.
for a while.

the body accustoms
yet the rising continues,
engulfing the mouth,
filling the lungs
so no words can find
way past lips,
filling the ears
so no sound can penetrate
hopelessness and panic
thrust into the light in turn,

and,

it's not fine,

for a while. 

blind spot

there is a blind spot
where you stare,
and you cannot see what
is really there.

you see what you want
to see in that spot,
ignoring the truth of what
is and what is not.

i do not blame you
i know the seed is deep,
you cannot see that what
you sow, you will reap.

it's the blind spot
in the iris of your eye,
never letting real love in
only adding to your lie.

haven source, sister

hearing the sound
of the inner silence
screaming for redemption
and definition
something that can
never exist, here

the voice grows hoarse
in its valiant effort
there is only so much
to go around
and there is not
enough

and so it goes
again

it is not in wilderness
where succor lies
it is not in the wild
calm can be found
it is in the air between
the deadened leaves
that cascade to the ground
on a gusty Autumn day

nothing's gonna change my world.

Jai guru deva, om

to which they belong

winding branches
of a gnarled tree
contorting here, twisting there,
finding its own design
in nothing at all.
around and around
causing only confusion
to those seeking refuge
or glory in her shade.

desperately needing
for the chaos to stop,
unsure if it ever will,
until the dawning
that the rooted trunk,
to which they belong,
forever holds to the earth
the spiraling tendrils
giving them freedom.