A Silly Man

I have fallen

into alone.

I’ve lost myself

completely.

For her thoughts

that flutter through my mind

like many birds together

pulling me in different directions.

They all wish to chase my love

and find what she has made me.

What has she made me?

The birds stop in mid flight at my question.

Their uniformity startles.

As they begin to sing.

“Come see the silly man in love.

He thinks that she has made him.”

Can you hear the birds?

They’re laughing at me.

I’ve lost myself

in the wind of times gone by.

All I have are memories.

I’d truly treasure them,

if they were not killing me.

Strangled by the pain of longing,

I’ve swallowed the smoldering.

Someone please find my breath.

Someone help me breath.

She is my breath.

I miss breathing.

Not knowing her is death.

Not having her,

my misery.

Not being with her,

my test.

Can you hear the birds?

They are laughing at me.

“Come see the silly man in love.

He thinks that she has made him.”

Threading the Needle

I look to find a way to fit

through the eye of a needle.

Coming out the other side frayed

by the absence of what I was,

I shatter into tiny pieces.

Broken thoughts of who

scattered into the universe like star dust.

Some of us begin speaking and questioning.

Who are we?  What are we here for?

Some of us create things, others destroy things.

She wants to be his play thing.

He wants to play with her.

He extends himself stiffly

to her tender yearnings,

they become music.

New thoughts are born

to ride the thoughts of yesterday again.

Old thoughts begin to fade

into thoughts of tomorrow.

Expanding; contracting and repeating.

Broken thoughts of who

scattered into the universe like star dust.

Some of us begin speaking and questioning.

Who are we?  What are we here for?

Some of us create things, others destroy things.

One becomes many

and many become one

as one remembers she is

all and none.

I reverse myself through the eye of the needle.

I return to the absence of questions and I.

Having no need to reference to a self,

I rest in a peace greater than any joy or pain.

Yet, more subtle than these words,

I vanish now between them.

Viento

She is brilliance; striking out; lightning forms

beyond the mumbles of a world of men.

Her thunderous words awaken the warmth

within me, I’d forgotten. Asking, when?

Until I see the fairy, carve herself

out of the wind with her wisdom again.

There will be no rest for my pen or self.

Her magic awakens and leaves me slain.

Heaven cries when she sparkles in the wind.

“Leave the umbrella and bathe in beauty.”

She is wisdom; self defined; in the wind.

To crave her and serve her is man’s duty.

I will roam through endless pages and nights

crying out, squeezing my pen, for your light.

Discontent

I am a drop of discomfort and sweat,

a shaky grip given to steady hands.

A cry for living to any child’s bet.

Birth begets time we all sink in as sand.

Like the promise of spring in the mid fall,

green leaves laughing in brown, red and yellow.

Old age looms, a message of truth for all.

The fruit of such wisdom is a halo.

Only the body dies to those that know

we are all dust within the winds of time,

where we will land only Right View will know

the result of our actions in time.

A truth you can only let go to know

the truth within everything you don’t know.

Latino

I am rain drops on old ships set sail.
The sweat off a brow of very dark skin
is a lonely comfort for one so frail.
The pale hand with whip is also my kin.
A family tree of those who take and give
leaves me stuck between, like a seed in wind.
Far from any land of my own I live,
left to find myself within my own mind.
Speaking the language of thieves with fair skin
I share the pride of Africa’s brown skin.
I’ve both oppressor and oppressed within,
an abomination that is neither.
Race-less without any identity
I’ll be defined by my humanity.

Undertow

Judge not the ocean by the surface waves,
or be torn away by the rip currents.
Drowning in the hidden depths like a slave
that hides under the whip of a serpent.
Find yourself far away from what you are.
Out, lost and swimming for what you are not.
Everyone claims to have the truth?! Bizarre.
It can only be found within the heart.
Exhausted, swimming against ourselves,
looking to become sure of ourselves,
but we’d begun on the shore of ourselves.
When will we look below the first few shelves?
Greed and hatred, a whirlpool of urges
that pull us away from our purpose.

Autumn Wind

I’m standing tall above them all waiting

for the wind to wrap itself around me.

Hello.  Goodbye.  Waving and elating

gentle ripples in space, fiercely, move me.

So much that I’ve forgotten who I am.

Floating and drifting off with you, nowhere.

Back to the best destination, I am.

Yesssssss… We are such a wonderful affair.

Together, I see it all very clear.

Break away only for the finest wind.

That becomes wings to overcome my fears;

a wise wind, refined and unattached friend;

a summer leaf waiting for autumn wind

to embrace me before my winter’s end.