Alas, I cannot give to you the transcendence of celestial grace whispered on the warm sigh of the universe. I cannot make promises of eternal oneness our souls lost within the essence of same. The heavens may not be ours and the skies may never rain tears of joy for solace of our unity. I have no power to wield such fantasies, I have only the now. I cannot command the universe, I can only command my heart. I know not the frequency of existence, I know only the love I have for you. I cannot give you transcendence, for I have only the power to love. I have only love to give you. I have only love to give you. It is raw and lacks the boundaries of beauty. It is real and lacks the veil of falsities. It is love and it transcends the edge of time it wields the power of life. It is all I have. My love for you is all I have to offer.
They’re Catholic, does that matter? I say it like it does, like the cross in their window bears their souls, but where was God when she fell? Some people spill love from their pores in caring smiles and mindful nods. Her twinkle near most left that day, and for a moment I saw doubt in his eyes. He looks like St Nicholas, smiles like an old pirate and looks at his wife as though he has found the grail, I suspect he has. I suspect unbeknown to him, them, all of us, he has found that which is more holy, more powerful and more beautiful than any other earthly matter. Their love is different. The passion comes in his early morning jolts to the allotment, the way he stops at the corner looks back and waves like a mad man drowning at sea, anything to see that twinkle in his gals eye. She aged, over night, but her beauty never faded and her belief never drained. She smiles now with those sparkly blue eyes lined with tears as she hobbles past on his arm, the broken hip a memory of the past that remains in her gait, him in cut of shorts, a baggy office shirt buttoned up high and white spangly legs… They’re catholic, devout, they go to my church that I pretend to forget to attend and as I sit beneath the muted blues of an evening sky and watch him wander by I wonder. They’re Catholic. Does it matter?
We are all broken fragments of hope, scattered tirelessly through times path across linear dimensions weaving through planes of existence here upon Terra. Poor ageing Terra.
Then Gaia kissed life into us, the skin was her canvas and the scars the colours as Mother painted energy between the deep rivets adding gentle brush strokes of silent hues and vivid screams of life.
Her paints run low now, her waters are dry, the air dirty, her creation is decaying, compromised, the canvas rotting…
I wonder does the soul feel space do we sense miles peppered by oceans and feel the entanglement of constellations. Does the earth’s axis polarize magnetism splitting the vibrational field? Rhetorically science is not the answer I search for…
Sometimes, in days past and in mornings wake among busy droplets of lavender and burning skies of dawns glorious lake, She saw tiny glimpses of him, right there. Two souls peaked and primed, watching from afar, tentacles of the unseen, leaving trails of speckled kisses beneath wakeful stars weaved in the essence of man’s mindful tales. Simple eyes see with blind platonic thought beyond aesthetics, raw, unearthed beauty the soft whispers of what a soul has sought light within the pits of reality.
Perhaps souls, eachother had always known, not seeing the physical, they saw home.
In such dreams I lose self between gentle yellow rays of sun falling from the heavens dawns melody imploding as silence explodes and I hear natures orchestra kissing my soul Awake I see only beauty between the devils shadows The perfection of flaws Purity of truth experience of being human Life
Crystalline whispers of shattered dreams ascending the summit of one’s soul, yesterdays mountain… Like waves frozen in time, the forgotten hues of defeat as the spring thaw brings new blossoms. A Kaleidoscopic rainbow of colour, flush pink petals, lush green leaves, a horizon before me of fresh promises as a new dawn breaks and the skies turn a gentle ebb of deep peach.
At hours past when lingers only twilight, The owl, my companion guards my nights His call an ancient song of remembrance a message from Selene of transcendence. Among the vast emptiness of life the tangible moment between seeing and sight when eyes closed I hear, I see I know, The universal energy at perfect flow Alone, is that moment, when voices I hear, closed eyes and faces so near. I’m told it is a gift to see and hear and feel, It is an existence all too real and when I say I think you… then know you are, you will, you do… For we are just energy… And I have a front row seat for the show for that is my reality.
blossomsworld 