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Poem

I must confess that                                              
when I was younger
Love was not always
my first impulse…
Anger the impediment--
Fear the antagonist;

and now, much older
Love must be present,
the main ingredient in
all endeavors; permeate
as scent of a blossom
and Light redeeming 
dawn—there must be
interaction with 
the Soul of Love
or all my past
and negative 
conclusions 
positively foregone--

not to be confused
or misinformed:
I speak beyond 
the surface norm
though how appealing
shades evolving 
rapturously into hues
entrancingly revealing,
with misty perfumes
that ride the air
such carpet magic
beguiling—the contours
of smiles 
though how captivating
now most manufactured
from these Pearly-whites
I run, yes leap into
evasive flight
as day often seems
to bolt haphazardly
into perilous night…

as with religion
no longer faith enough
to charm and draw me
with its promise,
such mysticism
that climbs above
all suffering
as if no height 
too high
we glide above
like angel span
soaking up thermals
escaping our 
sacrificial earth
such pagan body
left far below
with new eyes
and heart
unwavering--
to say I soar
for the Genuine God
is to say
I enter deeper
within--
there is no 
true beauty
needing further
definition
outside of
itself…

I speak of the rose
at the moment of perfection
when color and scent
on immortal display,
the mountain’s highest
peaks when baptized with
a season’s first snow
and the moon full-spot-on
illuminating the 
dramatic-face
of heaven’s own
figurative show
I grow in spirit,
reach and aspire--
all nature
a performer
and we theaters
All God….

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