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Archive for black

Poem – Across The Sea

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Across the black sea I see nothing with these eyes
and I stand here not as I see myself
and not as I desire to be
but as the being accepted by the water.

Across the see littered
with fragments I am
but a whisper cast from
mountain tops.

I hope with every last
shred of this being
that you are out there
waiting with patience

for my return from one
field and when I land
in the black waters I am
able to swim now free of myself.

Poem – The Physical Manifestation of the Mind, Part 3

In
a deep fog,
a wakeful sleep,
a field lit by ten-thousand lanterns
reflects the chaotic sky passing
through different sets of reality,
a physical manifestation of the
struggle, of the storm taking hold.

In
this clear moment,
a disconnected view of what is true
I let go of attachment and emotion
and take hold of my thoughts and actions.

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Poem – The Physical Manifestation of the Mind, Part 2

The threads fade into the background
as the scene silences and I am left
with basic and primal instincts,
disconnected from the imagined

physical world, pushing aside
forced projections and loose
words from false gods and prophets –
my inner beast runs into the fields.

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Poem – The Physical Manifestation of the Mind, Part 1

The air I taste and breath
surfaces sharp and distinct
memories from a time I had
forgotten.

Across the empty fields
losing to the shadows
the land becomes the physical
manifestation of my mind.

I walk around and examine
each thread, each connection
some are familiar and soft
some are foreign and sharp.

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Poem – What Becomes

(1)

Long ago that path became an object in the mirror
fading into the dust of the present experiences.

I look back with nostalgia at moments
I have built and pieced together from the

scenes I have witnessed, the people met
and the forgotten glorified sense of purpose.

(2)

What becomes of the road after the tires
have passed and the dust finally settles?

What becomes of the river
after the canyon walls give way?

What becomes of home
after the fire dies out?

(3)

Crashing waves keep my mind from resting
and I picture a small boat beyond the harbor.

Beneath the darkening skies it fights to stay
afloat, making each moment count.

(4)

What will be left in my wake when
the sun finally sets for the last time

and that tree I planted early in the spring
reaches its full height and lets go of each leaf?

Spirt in the Forest