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Riding My Worm Home
I am being suffocated by dying water
I feel the joy of sorrow wash over me and I let it be…
I feel the stony fingers of the earth close around me
pulling me back to where time began, where I began.
I see a young, tender toddler crying,
I give it my coat and it stops,
thanks me and disappears.
Oh well, I think, and ride my worm home.
We stop to drink flowers and eat tea.
What a day I think and stand on my head.
Leaf
As I write, as I think of a leaf.
As it turns
Red,
The color
Of love,
Before being purified by snow
And ice, by wind.
It falls into the eternal
Dreamless sleep of winter.
Back to the ground of time.
Time
In a world of inspiration and not.
In a world of peace and yet of war.
In a universe of love and where rocks
May live or be dead. Inspired
By smiles and sneers.
With pen, pencil, and the ink of love,
Stars, belief, galaxies and dawn.
The sun’s ongoing argument
With the moon shall never stop
So is to be the change of seasons and day and night.
Beauty
Is beauty a leaf? A rock? Jewels? A smile? Or is it love, or friendship, or time, going on and on – until it turns to wind, water, stars or moon. Everything true and honest, something that cannot be lost but only found? Diamonds or tears? Laughs or cries? Is it sorrow or joy? Perhaps it’s just something that’s there and only knows itself. Or is it air, crushed to dust, only to become part of space, time and beauty all over again? Or maybe it was beauty all the time. Who has learned it’s secret? Who has wondered, or forgotten? Perhaps it was I, or perhaps it was a fish in the pet shop tank? Perhaps it is us all, but the only thing that we have to do – is search and understand.