Vicissitudes and Succor
Are My Words So Foreign Or Obtuse
That You May Not, Within Them, See Truth?
That We Live Together Within,
While Without We Share, What May One Day,
Become A Common View;
A Mutual Love Born Beyond The Forming
Of All Words.
A View We May Adopt As Living Love,
Grown Fervent In The Fertile Soil Of Our Species,
Forever Married To Each Living Heart.
A View Deserving Of The Title: Brotherhood Of Man.
Each Star Is A Condensation Of Universe.
We Are God’s Neurons, Only The Smallest
Synapse Of Space Between Each Soul,
Over Which We Send Our Communications,
With Or Without Love’s Intention;
The Membrane Of Our Common Memories
Holding Us Together,
The Muscles Of Our Motions Moving Us Forward
Into The Arrangement Of Another Thought.
Those Thoughts Are Carried By Rock Or Blade
To Become The Stories From Which They Are Made.
Where Were Your Eyes Before You Knew Them?
In All Finer Motions, Each Feather Balances On Times Blade
And Will Not Exclude The Heaviest Burden;
Truth, Which Is At Once
The Beginning And End Of All Things.
From Each Twilight Comes A Dawn
An Echo From The Rumblings Of The Earth,
It Is The Sound Of Our Continuing Birth.
In The Night’s Clearing Mist
You Must Catch What Is Taught
From Every Voice You Hear:
It is The Creation Of All Your Tomorrows.
Wake Gently Beyond The Reach Of Any Day,
Expecting The Miracles That Are Coming.
The Drumming Of Hearts
That Will Join You In Your Song.
There Is No Right Or Wrong;
Only Difference Or Indifference
In The Way All Notes Are Sung.
Inspired By A Hunger For The Stars,
That Shine From The Depths
Of Each Others Eyes,
We Grow A Newer Hope For All Lost Souls.
In Our Dawning Hour
And In The Rising Of Their Cries,
Faith Waves Away All Curls Of Uncertainty:
A Flutter, A Kiss, The Miss Or Near Miss,
A Ring The Sirens Sing,That Endlessly Persists;
Reminding Us Of Love:
The Only Anchor To Which Sanity Insists.
In The Living Soul Of All, Life Awakes,
Confronts The Hour All Clocks Will Tick Again
As We Awake To Make Another Day;
Pray Over Breakfast, Offering Our Offspring
The Smoke Of Every Fire,
Until Winds Shift; And We, At Last, Retire.
Each Budding Leaf, Thus Flowered Green,
A Story.
Brown And Crisp And Driven By The Wind,
Perhaps Another.
Around The Corner Next;
We Name It Other.
For What Intrigues Us Most;
We Are The Cannon Of Our Standard,
Hollow And Loud,
The Road Behind Us Littered With
What Once We Carried Proud.
Our Life A History Of Differences,
Each Cobble A Past Canning Of Knowns.
Our Being, Thick With The Sounds
Of All That Is Taught
Through Voices Other Than Our Own.
It Is In The First Step, The First Word Of Love,
The First Of AnyThing, That We Are Found.
Every Tree Is Not A Willow
Nor Every Horse A Stallion
Our Wish Is Only A Tavern Of Friends
Greeted By Each Others Laughter.
Arms like Our Own, Holding
The Hope We Live With Every Hour
That Every Drop Will Find Itself A Thirst.
For It Is Only The Middle
To Which All Men Arrive
Each Of Their Movements
From A Silence That Comes Before Life
And To Which All Life Returns.
So Wrap The Dark Around You
Be Sorry For The Ones Not Here.
And Sorrier Still For Those Who Are,
Whose Voices Disappear.
Lost Still,
InThe Cradle Of Their Breech.
We Can Only Teach
What has been Taught
From Every Sage
“ Life Is A Cage,
The Bars Of Which
Are Made Of Your Beliefs.”
To End All Griefs
Know Thyself,
In This, Will Be Revealed, All Things
And You Will Know At Last
Why The Caged Bird Sings.
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