Starry beams

Hope.
Hope, for all you are worth,
In clarions of love to light
A diadem of noble dreams
Upon the aching soul of Earth.

Anoint her with your starry beams,
Each prayer to heal a world of hurt.
In deep of night, make spirit bright,
As midwives to a beacon’s birth.

~*~

Merry Christmas. Chanukah Sameach. May you wish high and with all your beautiful might. đź’«

I could…

I could weep a cataract as would shame the Nile
And I could pound the wicked with a thousand mile-wide smile
Well, I could raise a thunder-clap with one hand tied behind my back
Could kill a beast at fifty feet with just a glint from one mad eye

Oh, I could draw my arm and hurl a mountain into space
And I could throw a fit to shift the planet from its course
Could charm the very lightning with synaptic force and torch this place
And I could shout an earthquake so profound the rotting dead would wake

Still, I could cry an ocean of lament and then seal up its source
And I could make a potion for a notion of the World’s remorse
And I could grow a garden for the hardened heart to ripen soft
And raise aloft a hoping over all the misery and dross

Well, I could try today to live all in and live it all the way
For I could die tomorrow on my own created cross

[Originally posted: July 2014]

passing through

Place:
Where this ageing face
And tired baggage
Slip inevitable,
Invisible as my west.
Well met, horizon,
Rising yet, as hidden
From my view, as I,
Invisible but for my
Fewer few.

Superfluous,
Wandering witness
In etheric states,
Wise to the grains
Of a World
Unrecognisable,
As old beholds anew
Of nothing new
But fate in preparation
For Eternity
Is passing through.

My infinite thread,
The tapestry to grace,
Opaque
And limit led
In purpose and effect,
Immeasurable
Of tread and trace
But trust and save
My time be fixed within its
Perfect breathing space.

Life is paradox

Life is paradox: it is
While it is not. Each
Being, its own Universe
Entire and a speck
Within the macrocosm
– All is One –

But every spirit’s fire is
Unique. A human seeks
To leave himself to find
Himself returned to place;
To face his own remains
As though his eyes were
New again.

The less we try to run, the
More we Grow. And yet,
The more we learn, the
Less we know.

Empiric fact is juxtaposed
And overlapped with
Supposition; evidence
With superstition. Memory
May be what wasn’t and
The only truth that is;
A lie can be transparent
While the truth itself be
Masking great deceit.

Confidence is weakened
By an overreach and
Strength can speak in
Silence. Even violence
Can look beautiful and
Seeming beauty be
Mundane – just as a duty
May be free but bought,
Or sought and claimed
As honour or the ruse of
Perfect slavery.

The World is what you’ve
Chosen to believe it is,
Though Universal Rules
Remain regardless.
Death is but a midwife
To the start of life and
Every life is born to die.
Below is like above, as is
Without akin to all within.
A hatred can be loved and
Road to Hell be unintended.
An effect is stored inside its
Cause but Man forgets his
Cosmic Law.

So Progress comes by
Order out of chaos as
The darkest weight of
Shadows knows: the Sun
Comes shining; like a cloud
Creates a silver lining.

If Fate and Will be dice
Of separate states, they
Are the same – just
As the sombreness of
Being and of Doing form
The counters in Great
Mystery’s old Game.

There is no new but wonders
Never cease and increase is
The sum of pieces framed by
Peace or conflict’s stolen
Golden fleece.

And yes: the more things change,
The more they stay the same.
But what is deemed impossible is
Seeded with potential by the want
Of an essential gain and pure
Imagination’s daring pain.

Ambivalence is not a certain
Lack of vision. Nor an absence
Of discretion. Ambiguity is not a
Merely mercenary prism –
Thoughts and feelings can be
Held in opposition. They’re a
Natural reflection of a stimulated
Conscience and an obvious
Response to such a life of paradox
Where all the complex world is
Locked into a mix of truth and
Nonsense.