Following Invisible Footprints

Quicksilver Time

Dipping my fingers into a puddle of quicksilver time-
watching the ripples bend and twist those
tomorrows and yesterdays into fantastic shapes,
filled with smokey rainbows of dreaming;
and dreaming seems to be the fastest way out...
Helpless in the face of my own fearing
I drift...along...alone...
Past frozen nightmares of pointless abilities
and landscapes of poorly hidden intent.
I search...alone...
for meanings and definitions in life-
and come away empty...
like a doorway...a window...
a cracked cup throwing a perfect shadow.
Dipping my fingers into a puddle of quicksilver time-
fingerpainting a sunset glyph-
a whispered mantra that sounds like the drawn blade-
like crystalline raindrops piercing the veil-
whispers that tell me ancient mythic tales
that I've always known swam like ravenous sharks
down in the depths of the blood...
Tradition has been shattered-
and as I run away I cut myself deeply
on the jagged broken shards.

The Prison of Your Smile

Crossing this great and intimidating desert
of both common and uncommon despair -
burning with ragged flames of desperate desire;
desires birthed by the very effort of existing!
Your name?
A cool whisper of eucalyptus scented wind
coming from just west of nowhere to soothe.
Your kiss?
A crystalline wellspring of water breaking free
of the stone embrace of the earth,
directly from the very Ground of Being within
to flow over and around me without end.
Your Touch?
The tips of angels' wings softly caressing ...
The priceless jewels of snowflakes glistening
like diamonds scattered aimlessly.
If I hold you close to me ...
I am released from my long perfected prison.
released for that frozen piece of time
it takes for me to fall head over heels
into the prison of your smile.

Weave of Memory

It's all gone now...and not a clue where...or why.
it's all memory now-comes when it wants-
leaves when it wants- breaks you down into fear
and hollowed, empty crying in the dark
when it wants.
All of our secret places have vanished away...
replaced by time broken memories
and heartbroken shadows of dreams of you;
The "you" I knew would always be there-
right up to the very second I knew
you told me you would never go...
and then you were gone.
In my dreams I run my fingers
down the soft curve of your face...
but it wasn't you after all...it was only
a damaged memory/thought/dream I clung to-
something built in haste to save my hopes
from my own destructive karma...
This intricate weaving of memory suits me
just fine after all...it keeps me warm
when traveling the icey cold hallways
in my heart...or perhaps in yours...

Time Lost

I can think about little else but the time lost
and the slowtime passing ... waiting ... desperately wanting.
What can I tell you that you haven't heard before?
I can touch you, and all you feel is my hand.
Can you afford to refuse the gift of my love?
I can't hand you your dreams
if you've never spoken to me about them.
I am empty of words, empty of intent;
because your heart is beyond the reach
of any plea ...
You could tell me again and again you love ...
but somewhere you've hidden away your
abilities of sharing and understanding
and your words are like a smudge of smoke.
If you feel the need to go ... then go.
If you feel compelled to stay ... then stay,
There's no place for us in the middle of it.
If you have no faith, then you have no hope,
and I refuse to continue dying inside ...
simply because you can't seem to learn.
The purity of movement itself is something
we can choose to share ... with little time lost,
and if I travel ... being by your side works ...
not a step behind you to catch you ...
although being your net also works.

Whole Again


You told me of those things that make
You whole again…and happy with life;
Things that shake the box of puzzle pieces
And make you construct the picture
over and over…consumed with joy.
You spoke of those things in velvet whispers
That evoked dreams of scented mists
Hiding silvered hopes and visions…
Whispers that sends shivers climbing
The tree of my spine in a frenzy.
You spoke in a language my ear knew not
Yet my heart took the lyric and rhyme
Like a long lost lover…
and began a new myth within me.
You spoke to me of sight scented by
Iridescent light and subtle shadowplay…
Of sounds deeply rich with dappled
Moonlit movement and heady copal
Burning in the censer of Thought.
You told me of those things that make
You whole again…and happy in life:
Things that tie the threads of the weave
Back together for me…and heal me.
A thousand lifetimes could be gifted…
and I would still run short of time
And would still run out of words to thank you-
For giving me back to me…

The Moon Unbroken

Bones shivering from icey backtime gone sour-
fingers so cold the weave of the
Life tapestry goes slack.
Slackened like the jaw while dreaming-
dreaming of sweeter memories...
mad and crazed the eye as it stares-
stairs leading up to the dusty attic of Mind.
tripping on shattered hopes-
stumbling on forgotten beams of moonlight.
Moonlight dappling-lunar camoflage
that hides the bare toothed slayer
of dreams...laughter that rends and breaks
the music of the night.
I slake my thirst in the desert
of words and thought...
and the moon in the bucket is broken-
twisted and shattered by droplets
from the tips of my fingers.
Those fingers shake uncontrollably
with fear and wonder as I glance skyward
to see the moon unbroken!

This Sunyata

There's all sort of nothing inside of me-
valuable vacancies...emptiness of infinite worth;
transparent to intent or desire.
This is not emptiness I fear or regret...
this is not a mosaic of misery or pain;
it's emptiness so vast and deep it seems
eternal and permanent-
and capable of holding infinity
within its timeless embrace woven
from diaphanous hope and sharp edged
shattered fragments of dreams.
This magnificent void-this sunyata...
it gives the promise of never lacking
never needing.
Not the emptiness of nihilism or fatalism;
but the emptiness of the drinking cup-
that of the axle hub of the chakra-
that which holds the promise of never
ever being used up.
There's all sorts of nothing inside of me-
eternal emptiness...Indras net stretching
taut to catch me when i fall
victim to my own lack of understanding,
and I find myself consumed by laughter
playing on this celestial trampoline!

Who Is It?

Who is it …
Sending these questioning stares outward
From this prison of bone-flesh-sinew?
Who is it …
Building dreamscapes of bent light and
Shattered, rainbowed crystal hopes?
Who is it …
Shapeshifting through teeth clenched dreaming-
Loping through fog-bound memory to hunt?
Who is it …
Writing histories of ancient lore
With a quill shaped from his own bones?
Who is it …
Weaving nets of sunlight and starlight-
Casting outward to catch endless tomorrows?
Comes a knocking on the glyph etched door
That stands still and frighteningly silent
Like some stone sentinel between this very real “now”
And that diaphanous, very unreal “then”…
A knocking times to the very cadence
With the blood driven drum of the heart…
Who is it?

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