Untitled

From an inky sort of blackness
comes a rainbow's sacred sound
where eyes beaming as portals
well their wisdom from the ground

Untold stories hiding endings
that we aren't yet meant to know
walled by egos (not by bridges)
mute our movement, dam our flow

It's a frightening kind of cavern
with familiar shadows long
yet only absence of all light
allows emergence, free and strong

If love contains our knowledge,
all these stories in our skin,
our beings will only widen
as knowing works within

A gentle inner landscape
awakens slowly to its task;
Pleasure applauds purpose
that surrenders present,
honors past




"Knowing grows and love expands to contain it. Love is just the skin of knowing."
- William Paul Young, from "The Shack"

Just Me

It is for
tender mornings
I blink to see
new chance dawning
to rise as we
In the youngest light
too faint to hear
my muscles murmur
I'm still here
New day air
eager and fresh
peels dreams away in
ribboned flesh
In later hours
real tones reveal
sun exposure,
cracks unsealed
And despite that fighting
biting fear
I'll rise again
just me,
still here