Category: Poeting Page 1 of 4

This Deep Young Man Must Be

Painting on a field of dreams.
Waiting for my death, it seems.
Riding on my horse of bone.
Biding Time and Space alone.
Lifting stones of leaden sorrow.
Living yesterday’s tomorrow.
Lighting lamps to sing my song.
Fighting life, I linger on.
Breaking ties with joys of old.
Raking coals in ashes cold.
Sailing, searching, seeking land.
Trailing in the race of Man.
Bursting in my head the Light.
Thirsting for the simple life.
Pondering the voice of Is.
Thundering, the voice of Dis.

Dis-stain

The taste of Truth was bitter upon my tongue.
It’s knotted noose
around my neck, I hung.

Do not speak to me of Truth.

The No.w.here Man

Dearth of dusty, grey and musty
books upon the shelf.
In the empty halls of knowledge
I met a wizened Alf.
He sat upon a tome of Science,
his look was far away.
A little gnarled and twisted man
with just a hint of fey.

He saw the searching in my eye
and then I saw him smile.
Then he saw my wariness
and then I saw his guile.
He whispered to me darkly
of the slyness of the mind.
His countenance grew grim now,
his face was thin and lined.

He told me of the separateness
between the mind and soul.
How one was thought the other
from bygone days of old.
The mind he called an instrument,
reason, just a tool.
The soul he called the genius.
The soul he called the fool.

He taught me things I could not think
’til I broke down into tears.
He showed me how my happiness
depends upon my fears.
Drifting in the timeless void,
suddenly all went still.
Vibration ceased.
I saw the beast
whose name is Nothing.

Nil.

Most Dangerous Game

The dusky cry of a hidden owl
wells across the night.
My sight hosts visions both foul
and fair.
Despite the urgent need to move,
fascinated, I stare,
enchanted and soothed.
I might have wasted all the night
if not this fright,
(I’m certain)
of the Thing behind the curtain.

The Beast of beasts darts out of the woods
and I see through the trees
it is me.
As I stood
helplessly.

Missing Time

It is sad, is it not? That our lot and our destiny, brings us misery as the price we pay to love each day? Are we asking too much? Now we reach out and touch the faces, the traces that hardly exist in the mist that is Mind and always we find that the ones who we loved now are gone.

Burning Love

The light that flickers underneath
can make you laugh until you weep
so lift the basket when you can
to show you’re not afraid of them.

They’ll flutter to your merry flame,
then scream and burn and lose their names.
No more to flit across the night,
leaving just the pure, hot Light.

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