At the whisper of right
wrong is given new sight
to surrender the pleasure
by which it was driven.
Now drinking a stream
which invited the Dream
to which spirit surrenders
for the joy of true treasure.
Tag: poem
Slaughter
I spat in the water and the children of slaughter,
who were standing behind me, looking out at the green sea,
took a hold of the east wind, bringing dust and disaster,
as they danced in their circle, growing louder in laughter.
I washed in the water of the daughters of slaughter,
running quickly before me, drinking out of the green sea.
Knowing well of the west wind, turning faster and faster,
they too danced in the circle, weeping now the disaster.
Village
The pink contrails gently tear the dark, pre-dawn blue, silent fugitives scurrying away from you.
My morning breath so innocent and warm, eagerly swallowed alive by the hungry cold.
The moon riding high in the benevolent sky, happily distant but not sure why, will he ever stoop down to see what this gentle sadness one day could be?
Innocent
Chapter 1
Air was coming. Cold and light, small and wide. She turned away, her hair closing her eyes. The sound was distant, a heartbeat closer. As the mountain turned the corner, the river whispered to the sun, the leaves trembling. The footprint pointed to a larger being, maybe a child with a child, inside. In the wind came the secret she knew, as it called her closer. Simple, she thought. But eloquent enough. Tears are seldom wrong but they washed her heart, her soul floating light and free now. Never again, she prayed, hoping the fragrance would make a way for her spirit. The child was clean. And mostly pure. Inquisitive and kind and trusting and a little unsure. His hands soft and sweet, holding gingerly, hopefully, onto truth and comfort. Gently he watched, eager to see. His joy like a healing flow, cleansing her words and caressing her scars.
Chapter 2
It is a wicked thing when trust is stolen and innocence framed. And the thief is the teacher. He wasn’t too sure, but he knew coldness had come as a spiteful friend. The blood, only a trickle on his face, became a river in his soul. Many years it carried many away and also some to safety. It still flows today, a nearly invisible sparkling true. The distance came close yet never close enough to be removed. In the tragedy a sadness gave birth to life and truth and healing, even as sometimes the shadow still hides in the light.
Chapter 3
It wasn’t easy but hiding was good. Liberating, actually. Behind the wall he could be whoever he needed to be. She knew the truth but was always afraid to share it. Alone and alone, and lonely too. In what she made she sowed her soul, the harvest coming mostly when she was gone. To defend and protect she gave all away, seeing only some of her reward and just a glimpse of the once promised peace. In the making she created something special and unique and deep and lovely. The winds of her soul sang through the fragrance, touching all who spent the courage to enter. In her eyes the universe settled calmly, mystery touched and saved. Her nails, strong like iron and still pure as gold, spoke of the love and the loss and the still hoping.
Chapter 4
Always there was the possibility of change, of transformation to life and joy. Intelligence bears many burdens, even as they whisper the world. Sweetness too can rob you. Again and again. Eyelashes are good for gain but not for shade when the shade is true. She would wander through the forest of dreams, dancing through the broken twigs and rotting leaves and unsinging birds. And yet, usually one song was often enough. Just enough to find the next path. Simple strength to cover the night once more.
Chapter 5
He couldn’t control his smile, those inquisitive eyes always asking, learning, searching for more. A lovely tapestry woven with grace, climbing the clouds and bringing joy to the skies. A mountain, the lightning, the prayers, the knife and the fork. The happy, pure love of a seeking son. The deep love of a sacrificing mother. These things even the universe cannot fully perceive or bear.
Leaning Now
If you abandon ship, by foot, hand and upper lip, losing sight of stubborn clip, would not the wind and waves of sea bury both you and me?
Running light and running free is not to say you run with he, who once was running too, yet running away from you.
He too stood tall on stubborn ship, setting sail with iron grip. Yet the waves are too walking away from you, wondering far from clip and strip.
Think quickly now with fear and dread, if abandoning ship is all you need. For should you step to southern shore, you may not see what came before.
The wind is strong and true I know, but light and love are stronger still. Take your place, with ready face, leaning now into loving grace.
Lorenzo Agnes 