The mourning is where we start, smartly black,
Heading northward on the medicine wheel,
winter cold, and stunningly silent, saving our grief
for some other time, Perhaps - definitely not now
when there is too many eyes, I do not trust them.
No matter, dust has changed to dust, what has gone
will not come back, positive attitude or not.
It is not this moment that has closed my heart,
this moment is the public moment, when you can
tell me anything - how you are sorry, how you know
what I feel - all the proper civilized saying one says
in front of the place where we are to let go of what has left.
They say one goes through shock and disbelieve
when emotional knives are thrust into the heart
Caesar's worst pain was seeing who had set upon him
Et tu - you brutal ones - whom I once called family.
Upon sight of my heart's essence flowing outward
in an unhealthy way, I died a death of disbelief,
and a blanket of emotions was buried deep
in my cocoon, my hibernating coma of numbness.
And I slept a good long sleep, dreaming of heaven.
Medicine wheel turns, this time to the east,
the place of beginnings, the place of birth,
bear wakes hungry, disoriented by the long dream.
I long to move to the south, the place of growth,
but I must sow the seeds that I have gathered from my dreams.
I must brake ground, unwilling ground, I must fight for these dreams.
The birds hunger for my failed dreams, harpies waiting for the earth,
the physical world to say - no way Jose - you are not good enough.
Your dreams must die - we live for your failure once again.
I must keep sowing these seeds - I must keep hope alive.
The forth step, of course, is the future - a place never reached
But we will ourselves there nonetheless, undaunted, dreams
intact, thriving in the glowing light know as love. It is a place
beyond Eden - for nothing grows in Eden - they only stay the same.
We have bigger dreams - dreams so bright they light the world at night.
And the only hunger is the hunger for more.
(©Frank Coughlin - April 2011)
Heading northward on the medicine wheel,
winter cold, and stunningly silent, saving our grief
for some other time, Perhaps - definitely not now
when there is too many eyes, I do not trust them.
No matter, dust has changed to dust, what has gone
will not come back, positive attitude or not.
It is not this moment that has closed my heart,
this moment is the public moment, when you can
tell me anything - how you are sorry, how you know
what I feel - all the proper civilized saying one says
in front of the place where we are to let go of what has left.
They say one goes through shock and disbelieve
when emotional knives are thrust into the heart
Caesar's worst pain was seeing who had set upon him
Et tu - you brutal ones - whom I once called family.
Upon sight of my heart's essence flowing outward
in an unhealthy way, I died a death of disbelief,
and a blanket of emotions was buried deep
in my cocoon, my hibernating coma of numbness.
And I slept a good long sleep, dreaming of heaven.
Medicine wheel turns, this time to the east,
the place of beginnings, the place of birth,
bear wakes hungry, disoriented by the long dream.
I long to move to the south, the place of growth,
but I must sow the seeds that I have gathered from my dreams.
I must brake ground, unwilling ground, I must fight for these dreams.
The birds hunger for my failed dreams, harpies waiting for the earth,
the physical world to say - no way Jose - you are not good enough.
Your dreams must die - we live for your failure once again.
I must keep sowing these seeds - I must keep hope alive.
The forth step, of course, is the future - a place never reached
But we will ourselves there nonetheless, undaunted, dreams
intact, thriving in the glowing light know as love. It is a place
beyond Eden - for nothing grows in Eden - they only stay the same.
We have bigger dreams - dreams so bright they light the world at night.
And the only hunger is the hunger for more.
(©Frank Coughlin - April 2011)
forth step is the step you take forth (forward)
ReplyDeleteI did not want to use Fourth there.