Angels Among Us...

Not all angels come to us in glimmering pastel clouds shrouded in light, feathers and cinnamon … not all journey forth in gilded chariots, lightening or on a fragrant breeze… on a special errand… simply for me…or you…

Confused…the flight from the choir’s nave or crowded guff, between stars and stratosphere, some angels may merely be lost - the journey having left them distracted or confused…their message and intent perhaps forgotten… Do they find their way to us “subconsciously”… the beacon of a mission so embedded that even with amnesia they find their way to fulfilling their mission or do they wander aimlessly earthbound ….  directionless?

A lucky few, however unbeknownst to them, are met with what some think of as pure Angels…directly “from the big guy above”… they resolve the quandary and disappear… leaving the recipient none the wiser save ever grateful for the seemingly miraculous conclusion to what seemed an insurmountable problem or challenge.

Perhaps some angels come in spiritu… without mass… and infuses or temporarily possess one of us… and this explains the occasional moments of inspiration and grace you witness when perfect strangers seamlessly and unconditionally help one another….

Some folks opt to believe in Karma rather than in the services of divine angels, sprites or Djinn … people themselves are destined to do, help, hurt, save, stop, aid each other as karma dictates – with no personification of divine oversight save to acknowledge the power of the Universe to even things out eventually…

I like to believe that we are all Angels, Djinn, helpful entities… imbued with innocents and goodness… that in our moments of grace, when we are at our best, we are angels for one another… in these moments we are divine…the answer to spoken and unspoken prayers…

Passing Through Time (2013 re-write)

Walking down this lonely corridor

known simply and ironically as “life”,

he has nothing to disturb his thoughts

save the sound of his own dull aimless steps

Echoing…

Echoing …

E…cho….ing… sounds

Bounce bouncing sounds

off endless walls called hours, minutes, days… 

cohorts in crime; 

So…un…ds … 

mingling with memories of rare 

occasions of awareness;

and he wanders wondering…

“How much have I changed

since I last paid attention

to the shifting bouncing sounds

of myself… my…very self… 

passing through time”

Walking down this lonely corridor

Known simply and ironically as “life”

I have nothing to disturb my thoughts

But the sound of my own steps

Echoing…

Echoing

Echoing…sound

Bounce bouncing

off walls called time…

Time…

Sound mingling

with memories of other such occasions of awareness

and I wander wondering…

How much have I changed

since I last paid attention

to the shifting sounds

bouncing sounds

of myself

Passing

Passing through time?

A Lover’s Prayer: Scene 1 (2013 re-write)

Warm and Disarm me with Genuine smiles.

Tend my Heart carefully, 

accept my affections given in kind, 

Believe and Surrender.

For reasons unfathomable 

our threads are tied - our story begun;

Attraction and Attachment

inevitable and unavoidable.

The things I want

are words stuck in wombish buccal cavities

and only my pen communicates freely

those things only fugitively mouthed 

in the company of shadows

where insecurities are masked in the gloom

and my smile mimics

subtle reflections of strength 

greater 

than I 

in truth

bare.

Warm the cockles of my heart with your disarming smile.

Carry my heart carefully in your arms

and tenderly accept my affections given in kind.

Surrender to my confession and believe in me.

For reasons unfathomable

our threads are tied and our story begun…

Attraction and attachment

inevitable and unavoidable…

The things I want

are words stuck in my mouth

and only my pen communicates freely

those things gingerly whispered under cover of darkness

where shame and insecurities are masked in shadow

and my smile mimics

Subtle reflections of strength greater than

I in truth

Bare.

3am Confessions (2013 re-write)

My tongue held for the moment

I wait & write in the dark

for Anonymity.. for Inspiration;

for confessor’s release… for sleeper’s Reward.

Is it vanity or pride -saving one’s tongue for script?

Is it safer?

Does the time elapsed from mind… to hand… 

to pen… to paper

cause truer aim or allow prideful embellishment?

History proves the point - what one writes one “wills” True, regardless of reality or the perceptions of those around us. 

We write memoirs;

not as a last chance at redemption

but as an opportunity, perhaps, to create an extension of one’s self,

which, like a child, will grow with the ages…

be reinterpreted, reincarnated and repackaged to suit the times..

a message, bound in a leather bottle, tossed into the universe;

a message… communicated across the boundaries of time and death if worthy.

Or at minimum, a confession to a blank faced witness - the only thing in the present that knows the truths that have made you as you are and as you see yourself to be… and so… 

I write….

My tongue held for the moment

I wait in the dark

I write in the dark

For anonymity

For inspiration

For confessions’  release

For sleeper’s reward.

Writing...free flowin in the dark…

Waiting for sleep…

Stealing comforts from the rhythmic sound

of a rotating fan

instead of a warm heart beat and embrace.

Is it vanity or pride…

Saving one’s tongue for script?

Is it safer?

Does the time.. elapsed

from mind… to hand… to pen… to paper

cause truer aim…

or allow prideful embellishment?

What solace….

Even prisoners are allowed to write memoirs..

not as a last chance at redemption

but as a last chance to create an extension of one’s self.

which, like a child, will grow with the ages…

be reinterpreted

reincarnated to suit the times..

a message communicated across the boundaries of time and death

if worthy…

Or at minimum…

a confession to a blank faced witness

the only thing in the present that knows the truths

that have made you as you are and as you see yourself to be…