On this darkest night,
Without you near,
I fill up on thoughts of you,
Real and imagined,
And let your stars gaze upon my body,
As I would have you do
Tag: poem
To Be a Mystic
A mystic
I have been told I am,
But what does that really mean?
Am I cross-legged meditating?
Or walking through the woods?
Am I receiving images, messages,
Through Divine reinterpretation?
Am I using my mind to deduct reality from what we think reality is?
Am I communing with spirit?
Questioning the limitations of a term such as “God”, against the vastness of the unknown?
Am I a skeptic, a believer, a seeker?
If this is what is meant to be a mystic
I confess,
A mystic,
I am.
Longest Night
Dissipating light,
Whistle of wind over frosted dunes,
The night it closes in,
As we bid an early farewell to the sun,
Hope remains for the morning still to come,
But for now it is the blanket of dark,
Ever surrounding,
Noticed by all the living,
That the change it comes,
As the Earth does pass her longest night,
without the sun
Impeachment
I have been bucking this system,
From before it’s inception,
Been chanting for change,
Demanding justice,
But now this President takes the stand,
And I have nothing new to add,
My hands have done their work,
I take my leave,
And watch the process,
Still ready to picket should I feel moved,
And though I have little faith in justice here,
I still have
Hope.
Dichotomy
Self Discovery,
In the pursuit of hunting words,
I find my take on the infinite,
My discussions with the universe,
The supreme beyond the capacity for any
Being,
It is everything, and is in everything,
And we are composed of it,
Stardust,
But more,
Greater,
Stardust creator,
I would not call it God,
For surely it is beyond,
Beyond concern,
And of concern for even immortal creations,
Does our sin offend it?
Surely not,
For we are created of it’s complex knots,
Of seeming contradictions,
Good and evil,
Up and down,
In and out:
Dichotomy.
Real
This love it is real,
It looks just like none other
This my love for you
She of Letters 