I Am A Rose With Many Thorns

Once, winter cut through me, despite my layers
Like a knife in my back that was undeserved
I bled on my long walk homeward, soiling the snow
Ice condensed on the toes of my boots, the ends of my long hair,
Swished and scratched across my collar
There was sorrow there, in darkness
Where I did not use my flashlight

I drank a few beers to distract from my distress, but still, that road was long and quiet
I would find myself speaking Shakespeare and Masefield into the darkness
Warding off bears and and other musk-scented demons from the shadows of my mind
With poetry…

With solace and metaphor

Yet still I was haunted with echoes, as if it were a ghost
And not the memory of those words that hounded me

My time here is limited, these lessons are sacred
Moments when Will becomes stronger than weeping

My own heartbeat, my own silence teaches more
Than any book I have ever read

HERE I am, in this moment of Aloha
I see how my path has led me to the sea
As I knew it would, for I am liquid…
Now I must learn to SEE with these new eyes
To be as open as the horizon that surrounds this island

I remember the lessons so dearly won
Never again will I give until my heart breaks with sadness
For one who enjoys being broken

The emotion that I am feels the tide, pushing me outward
Challenging the solidity of a grounded theory

I know the storm has just begun,
This blessing of rain
Must water me, even amidst the deluge
For I am the floods of Autumn, the cleansing destruction
Quenching those who thirst for that bare naked truth
Found only in the depths where sharks are swimming
This is my Power, I am a river, and sometimes it is difficult to see the current
Before it rips away your careless footing
And it’s ass over teakettle into the flow

I may talk too much but I never speak lightly
So believe me when I say;
I cannot lift you up if you won’t take my hand
I will never be your crutch or carry your weight
I am walking the path of my own making, leave your judgement at the door or don’t come in

Now go blaze your own trail into the ominous night
Search among your shadows for a glimmer of light
Make friends with the ever present fear and desire
Until you burn with your own inner wisdom and fire

For-H

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Evolution, Revolution

Some things are… melting

Now, I am quiet

Where all sounds of the night speak clearly

To ears that are painting the resonance

Of rain, of spirit

Moving stealthily in the silence

 

I dance to melodies only I can hear

In the crickets, in the wind

This seat is my own, this view of stars

The thoughts and echoes of midnight

Returning, revolving in the flow of water

To the sea

To the sea

As a river, let it be

A path for salmon to follow…

 

When We were Stars

Sometimes I think it would be easier if we could be alone, but alas, we are an animal that craves the comfort of its own kind. Because of this, we are constantly giving up small pieces of ourselves, and filling those empty spaces with the pieces of another. Constantly compromising ourselves for the company of others who, despite their love, are cloying and ignorant of the stars behind your eyes.

So you attempt to bank your inner fire so you don’t burn others, but in loosing the flame you have lost the heat. Desperately you reach for the warmth of another, even as your heart craves the solace of mountains.

Struggling to maintain a balance between empathy and entropy, you age slowly in the privacy of your pages, recalling the nights when you shone fiercely in the darkness, burning with prose, and others made wishes upon your light.

The Man Behind The Curtain

And this one cannot be forgotten
Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it

The Memory Of Trees

 

He was a runner and a lover, but not a fighter. He could face your arsenal of rationality and logic with an impressive array of firepower, shooting holes into all the beliefs you once held like water in your chalice, until you are leaking from a hundred different places. He could stand alone amidst a maelstrom of contention with a perfect composure, as sure in himself as the sunrise in the morning. He could find a mountain blocking his path and move it effortlessly with a stroke of his pen- Or perhaps diminish it with one scathing remark, till it cowered like a molehill at his feet.

His power was always the ability to know when to sneak up behind you, but never the art of war. Meet him squarely on a battlefield with no walls to hide behind, and he would rather strike a deal than risk losing…

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