Cue the violins
Tugging hard on my heart’s strings;
Mournful strains of loss.
Ties that closely bind
My yearning soul to your own;
Ever tightening.
Invisible routes
Crossing ordinary lives
Connecting ley lines.
Tag: soul
Scolded
justifiably angry
broken heart
pieces scattered
irretrievably lost
dissolved dreams
visions mattered
unerringly paired
soul’s mate
conscience scolded
tearfully rejoined
love’s patience
now rewarded.
The Sea Knows
The sea knows my name
and calls me ever homeward
here child, you’ll be safe
The sea owns my soul
echoes in the ebb and flow
waves’ endless lament
The sea holds my heart
safely wombed in fathoms deep
swaddling currents’ keep.
Peace, people.
Meditating
in shadowed spaces
stretching
look up into the gloom
listening
whales call sonorously
undulating
peripherally, fan blades
whirring
negative thoughts intrude
pushing
failures and regrets
begging
grant them pardons
releasing
mind making peace
accepting
body seeking balance
meditating
soul sighing gratefully
surrendering
Chasm
in the soul of man
there exists a chasm
deeper than it is wide,
and it is very wide indeed
from one’s lofty northern perch
the southern side cannot be viewed
stones cast in vertically disappear,
become ghosts of old yearnings
intense feelings grown cold
free falling for eternity
to fathomless depths
in the soul of man
Broken People
we are
broken
each one
of us
from the
inside
(no matter
how beautiful,
or talented,
or together
we pretend
to be)
there are
cracks,
porcelain
fine,
criss-
crossed
etchings
across our
souls.
we are
whole
each one
of us
on the
inside
(no matter
how battered,
or discouraged,
or frightened
life has
made us)
there are
gold shot
veins of
strength,
defying
all odds
celebrating
our souls’
survival.
Heavy
heavy hearted
heavy handed
heavy on the sauce
heavy stories on the
down low,
heavy eyes
break your soul
why’s everything have to
be so hard?
so heavy all the time?
wanta lighten up
but everything’s just so
heavy.
Peace, people.
Sweeping Corners
You swept my soul clean
digging into the corners
with an old straw broom.
splintered handle held
in calloused, gentle fingers
moving dust around.
motes travel quickly
swirling faeries in sunlight
each a piece of me.
Get On Up
The first Monday of Daylight Savings Time calls for an extra strong cup of coffee and a kick in the pants. If that still doesn’t work here’s a little help this morning.
No excuses! Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 