- Books, Literature, and Writing
Thoughts set afloat like a gypsy moth over 10,000 streetlights.
we write with
the edges of our souls
sharpened by emotional grinding day to day
and what flows is the innermost gleanings
of our deepest hopes and dreams..
when the mesh of flesh is finally fresh
and not electronic blips and quips
that slip rapidly over the many miles
then the faces will hold more then traces
of smiles that will replace all the hunger
that was once palpable and left wanting...
until then it is poems that are the fingers
that etch memories onto the skin of
each others membranes of the mind...
I have seen the night walkers
in the streets of New York's canyons
and on the dusty back roads of Montana
and in the graveyards of the military dead at 3:00 a.m.
I have been a night walker and strolled the darkness
following a slice of sorrow thinly cut
like a sliver of moonlight.. .
there are always puddles when
there are night walkers..
puddles of blood...tears...sweat and rain.....
there are night walkers who still stagger in
the tunnels of former guerrillas in Vietnam though
the reason for their three mile stare is long gone
there are Night walkers all over the world
and they converge at some point
and become a shadow that blots out the day...
this is the darkest hour before dawn...
when dreams leave
open wounds in ones soul
and the only thing to bind it
is the one who is bound
for somewhere else..
then there is little one can do
but be alone and nurse the
slashes of solitude back to a
of what they once were...
in the cocoon of night's embrace
we fold our wings and float on
the dreamy cushions of thought...
that let us fly beyond all that
life could ever offer..and the
translucent and rainbow hues
of our wings in this never never place
are of such sheer beauty that we awaken
with tear dust in both of our eyes
God's ear is always
attuned to the voice of a child....
and he cherishes them as
the highest amidst all of his creations...
he grants them a period similar to Adam and Eve's..
a few blissful years of pure innocence to play and frolic
in the big wonderful world without the burdens
of sin or guilt or responsibilities
The moon pulls souls together
just as it folds the waves
one over the other.....
it has viewed the passion
of thousands of years
in the wilds below it....
it is always just outside the window
with a fingernail smile
or a bright beaming ray
that illuminates two sets
of lips entwined
times ten billion
all over the planet.
The moon is a voyeur
who helps stir the scenes
like a director who
orchestrates the moods
and the settings and
we are but actors
under his tides of impulse.
We have walked on his dusty face
but he has gleamed in the eyes of countless
coming together by two's for centuries
and he is the love light...the night light
that illuminates passions trysts
Sadness....is an ivy clinging
to the walls of ones soul
blotting out the light that
normally glows warmly through
the membranes of ones inner self...
it is a poison ivy that irritates and disturbs....
and lingers long after contact with the offense
that caused it is gone.....
salt can kill the root of the sadness..
the ivy..though poison... cannot tolerate salt..
and withers..so let the salty tears flow freely
over the ivy walls of your souls
and wither the root and then let
the light and warmth of ones smiles
enter in and set you in a clear place
...free of entanglement..
(I.) am done for now....
Here is the best comment i have recieved on this gathering of thoughts:
By-Fairie Princess- a fellow poetess