A thought rises through the fog
Beautiful, perhaps
Or dangerous
Maybe both
As beauty and danger
Often are
Risk
The blade of possibility
Honed to fine edge
So that with a stroke
We may manifest the exquisite
Or sunder it
Whether through intent
Fortune or folly
I have convinced myself
That chaos follows me
As if a companion
Or a stalker I can not shake
Until today’s revelation
That it is merely disorder
Of my own orderly creation
Like the roiling waters
Left in the wake
Of a vessel underway
And I am always underway
Though always looking back
Focused on the havoc
Left behind
In the lives of self and others
Manufacturing in my mind
The spiritual narrative
Of a Job-like tragedy
That relieves me of responsibility
The ebb
Of tides and life
Reveals the glories concealed
By full flood
No matter the words you say
No matter the things you do
All paths lead to you
A golden destination
Partially concealed
In unfathomable
Possibility
Spirit cracks
Inner light
Pierces darkness
Reminds conscious
Extant spirit
I lose myself in the sea
In the sounds of the waves
Breaking against the rocks
And the subtler susurrus
Of foamy water
Climbing then falling
The shallow sandy shoreline
The tiny boats
I make from the thoughts
I no longer want to have
Recede with the dying waves
To be consumed by the surf
I prepare more
With all the parts of me
I never asked for
Or cannot be rid of
And watch as they glide gently
Into roiling oblivion
I am free
For the duration
Of an ebb tide
Soon enough
The flood comes
The inexorable sea
Returns them all to me
A grey day
Light flattened
By a thick
Midday haze
Made all the more grim
By my mood
Impenetrable as the atmosphere
From full steam
To dead ahead slow
All stations stop
Close my eyes
Deep breath
Not stopped
Becalmed
Diminished light emerges
Find the blue
In sky and sea
Contrast highlight with shadow
Underway, with tranquil gratitude
A monument to
Patriarchy rises where
Emerald once was plenty
Now all grey and jaundice
I often wonder
What the world would look like
Had the matriarchs run the show
And life were of feminine design
The earliest stars
Twinkle under a brazen moon
Keeping the sky
All to itself
The world moves
In its own time
And I in mine
A dance
A rhythm
Obstinate
Relentless
Cadence
Unique
To my mind’s
Perceiving
And should I not exist
To observe
As sun surrenders sky
To the stars
Would there be time
At all?
Pix to Words 