Getting to the Root of Me

I crawl among the branches
  of the roots of my soul,
     as the worries of my thoughts
       take wing to the sky.
        I climb further down
          to the core of my being,
           and peer into the recesses
            of my inner darkness.
             And there I see an
              ancient crone
               sitting in repose,
                sipping from the nectar
                 of the gods,
                   clad in the robes
                    of the goddesses.
                      I commune with the
                         beginning of time,
                       the edge of the universe,
                      the center of existence.
                  And I see the thread of
                connection from me to my
             crone, to her crones all the
         way back...to me.
       I breathe deep and
      absorb them all into my heart center
    and hold them there
   as I climb back to the
  upper roots of the branches
 of my physicality.
 And return to here.
Now.

In the Fields where Unicorns Play

In the fields where Unicorns play,
I spent my youth and childhood days;
dancing with fairies,
singing with nymphs,
exploring the world on gossamer wings.

Springtime winds held autumn leaves.
Winter snows kissed summer trees;
laughing at goblins,
hiding from trolls,
basking in the sun with star-kissed ravens.

Dragons and Hawks anchor the sky.
Lightning soaked thunder slipstreams by;
breathing in Life,
exhaling Joy,
spinning magic to set my imagination free.

Persistence of time (lyric version)

Life & Death

I close my eyes
but cannot sleep
death stalks my every turn

If I fall asleep, could I not wake up?
If sleep captures me, could it hold me in its embrace
until slumber captures my very soul?

I open my eyes
but cannot wake
ghosts haunt my waking hours

If I wake, will I be able to carry on?
If light shakes me to full awareness, will I have to let go of dreams
wisping through the light of day?

I shake my head
to clear the gauzy tendrils
of illusion clinging to my mind

If I don't sleep now, how will I rejuvenate my soul?
If I don't dream now, how will I know when I've attained them?
If I don't wake now, how will I ever expect to make a difference?

If I don't live now, when do I ever truly expect to?

Autumn

Seeds planted in the Spring
sleep beneath a blanket of Earth
dreaming of coming bounty

Slowly they waken
stretching their arms to the Sun
releasing their potential to the World

Goddess Crone cradles the crops in her arms
Holding them in preparation for the goodness of the harvest

Days shorten and Summer wanes
Her hair becomes unkempt
She opens her arms in eternal Embrace
Loosening the fields to ripen to golden beauty
The orchards to grow to fruition

She unbinds her hair
Relinquishes her hold on previously unseen hues
Filling fields with crimson-gold, carnelian and scarlet
Until it's time to gather her bounty into our larders
Giving thanks for the goodness
And holding vigil in our lairs through the Dark of Winter

Them Bones

I stand in my skeletal state
Letting your rage roar through me
It scrapes across the bones of my rib-cage
Rattling through the space where my heart would be
Grasping at my xiphoid process
Wailing through my scapula
And screaming between my vertebrae

I look at you standing in your skeletal state
Snarling at the universe
Defiantly demanding what you claim you are due
Grasping, clutching, straining for something to reflesh your bones

I stand in my fully fleshed Be-ing
Watching you gnash on the scraps you've left behind but refuse to walk away from
My heart aches in sorrow at your pain
My lungs strain for breath, to voice guidance that I would willingly give
But, you reject any other reality except for the one you have chosen
And lash out in unmitigated revenge for pain meted out to you

And I stand, again, in the bones of my Be-ing
And I stand, again, in the frame of my essence
And I weep at the tragic hilarity of the fury
That sluices past me

Hoping for the day that you are able to rise again from your death
Praying for the night your bones tire of shrieking in marrow-deep wretchedness
Standing for the time you step out of yourself to truly Be.

Sentinels of the Night

Ah, bless-ed wing-ed creatures of the night
that lift my dreams
to the starry blankness of the dark
on wings of leathery blackness
until my soul re-emerges to the light