Sunday, May 20, 2012

Wove (a poem)

Willfull willing weaving wove. One religion broken, torn. Heart asunder. Eyes aghast. Time it plunders, so so fast. A tiny flower. A billboard crass. The final hours. The days relax. The soft of summer. Sunshine like grass. Afraid no longer. No thing to ask.

How could conversations move if fear were not inside? How could I live out my song if I didn't have to try?

My heart it aches for deep-down blues. Summer sunny. This I choose. I wrap my love in fire, water, earth. I plant it deep and pray for birth. And then I trust, dance upon the site. I trust perfection, that all is right.

And when the fear, that frantic puppy, hops on my leg, I'll smile real sweet and pat its head. There is nothing that I have to fear, not even fear itself. It strolls in for a reason, takes good care of itself. But my gait is lovely, and my legs are strong. I can walk this mystery trail without taking fear along.

The clouds like lions, barrel down on me. I breathe in this day, and how I feel I so free. And all the meaning, regret and loss, I tied up so tightly, I can lightly toss. And rolling down this field, green like I've never seen. The ball unravels, symbols pouring out like dreams.

Skipping, lightly, laughing, home. Remember, finally, I've never been alone. And a heart so open, and with eyes so free, I'm going to walk through fire, and it won't touch me. I'm gonna sing like purple. I'm gonna glide through pain. I'm gonna dance in circles. I'll never cower again.

This freedom, like a flame, just catching on a twig. Then a miracle, it happens. It gets picked up by the wind. And the fire starts expanding, creating its own song. And the pieces keep it burning, and they gladly sing along.

Heat builds. Winds change. Hearts burn. Nothing stays the same. So, with light feet and tiny bag, I'm gonna strut through this world, and I'm gonna do it glad. Glad for all the struggles, the pain that made me strong, the questions that kept me growing, the beauty that made me long (for more). The heart that kept expanding, though unbearable it seemed. The cracks that let the light in, the water that nourished the dream. The words that wrapped in meaning, all the starts and stretches of mind.

And underneath it all, deep pulsing of the earth. Ancient, aching longing. The same true song is heard.

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