The Focus of my Little Prayers

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I started early, took my dog
And visited the sea of poems
There in the basement of dreams
I found the lilacs staring back at me
I was impressed by the melody

How the sea withdrew in felicity
There was no turning back, it was set
The moon waltzed above my head

And I like mortals swooned
On the page of my youth
Where slow-motion still loved
The quietness distilled
From silence of the dove

And the summer made me beautiful
Inside, to protect me from the dying
Change was enhanced in song

Through sequestered scattered afternoons
And I was as much, my own sun
As the light escapes across the white
Across the wet throngs of spring
To be a poet of all the things we might become

Enlarging loneliness, with an inner smile
Finding joy in emptiness, that’s what
I know best, and it’s how I’ve survived

These books of bronze and blaze
And haloes of another time
I’ve felt the wizard suns
From distant eyes and praised
It’s all I have to bring today

All I am is me, and it’s a meadow wide
And it’s a storm’s encircling pride
And in my heart there is no setting or rising
There just lives a poem, that cannot die.

15 thoughts on “The Focus of my Little Prayers

  1. ……and in my heart, there is no setting or rising
    There just lives a poem that cannot die..

    And a soul, free from the limitations of human voids.
    There is no desert in this place, no pain, no woes, no foes.

    Just the fluttering of a free being, free me..
    slithering on the plains of timeless shroud, wrapped in eternal light.

    Filled with the richness of words woven in cacophonies of perfect metaphors.

    The soul of a poet.

    This piece is rich Wuji 🙂 It speaks to me too.

    • Freedom from self-attachment is a curious state, I rather like it. It’s satisfying to ride the river of art to not just self-acceptance but self-dissolution of the pleasant sort. I suppose it leads to a highlighted identification with others, the collective and the nature-universal in a sense as the only alternative.

    • Yes I like poets who have some philosophical substance to them or who are electic and don’t always write the same. Know any like that? Thanks for your comments though, they make me more happy to come and write here of late.

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