We are
Consumed by the wind,
As the autumn leaves
That leap from the hillsides.
So we write,
With our darkest ink,
Passages in the sky…
Letting our afterthoughts
Mingle in the gardens
Of heaven
Like careless birds
In early spring.
…testing the emptiness
Of existence,
We listen through the silence
For Grace.
And she says,
“Wake up…”
With the tap of morning dew
Upon my ear.
I could not speak,
So I dipped my soul in ink.
I could not feel,
So I hunted throughout
The land of music.
I could not see,
So I prayed
Within the deepest temples
Of Gods gardens.
Like so I listened
To my rose,
From a thousand miles away.
The wind I had felt was by no mistake,
Yet you lay on me, as a rose petal
Would drift down the Tigris night
Upon milky waters,
Between the forgotten seasons;
Where the spirit is intoxicated in divine limbo.
And I beg the sun to lose my self through the sky,
A thousand droplets, a thousand prayers,
A thousand pages, a thousand doves
To keep you aloft?
This is how I blushed upon your cheek
Naked before the world.
Between the banks of an ancient Song,
Where poets lost themselves,
She drowned in me.
Now I rage, rage against time,
To carve a canyon where humanity will
Lose itself!
How will you shout
Through my encompassing emptiness?
Match my dust with tears and prove me wrong!
Oh to be once again
A seam in the sand…
At the mercy of morning dew.
Shout and sing from the depths
Of my empty tomb.
Only a stranger can feel
And call upon this past to ruin.
How many generations do I call forth?
How many will then dig for truth?
the letters of my language
dipped in your lipstick
how a spirit is lost
in woodlands of your hair
a soul can not abandon
the temple of its birth
How many pilgrims
are lost for your skin?
“Our depth is a shallow
In the seas of being
The iris of existence.
Our ideas…
Warmth and cold.
Oil pastels…
Upon the pupil.”
My elegy births a war
Though it conceived
An idea of hope.
And we wondered,
‘What was beautiful?’ ,
Growing through the loom
Of a departed life.
What was beautiful?
It was hope,
To be free of wants
And profits of our souls.
You are a temple for lost souls,
Who seek not scripture but rest.
For your doors are never closed
And spring runs childishly about.
And when the harsh winds of winter
Come bellowing from the North,
They are tempered in their shame,
Settling in their youth, beneath your eyes.
Life will not find your secret,
As she is blind to her self.
Though time will remember your refuge,
And forever find you, his rest.
You will never be blinded, for you see through the eyes of my faith.
You will never feel lost, for you walk through the gardens of my wonder.
You will never know cold, for you wear the garments of my soul.
You will never meet thirst, for you have the pools within my eyes.
You will never lose breath, for you are carried in the winds of my spirit.
You will never speak with pain, for you live within the temple of my prayer.
You will never aqcuaint hunger, for you dine on the essence of my dreams.
And you will never be alone… if you can settle for what is left.
ahorsealone 
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