This Soul is from elsewhere

Enough of the poor translations
Of half-truths, and beautiful illusions
I want the sanctuary that silence binds

The golden press of pure meditation
That what I love, I will become
So I will raise my words
And not my voice and all that is
Healing will be my hands

And like rains unto the flowers
I will be the cool gentleness
To change the world, I’ll change myself

I will learn to be so calm
That peace will drive all happiness
And I will age with grace and pause
And I won’t hold on and I won’t let go
I’ll just be the soul of the universe
That is love, in chaos find a sign of order.

Beauty is not caused in her

Beauty is not caused in her

If love is immortality
How shall I love more clearly?
The day and eternity
In the collection of this necessity

They might not need me
But they might, and her
The her of my smile and sight
For her my soul stands ajar

Ready to welcome
In ecstatic experience
The small perch of her song
Will she sing to me?

Hope being a feather of will
Unable are the loved to die
For her possibility is my breath
When my whole body

Is so warm that no cold can take me
That is poetry, and that is grace
Morning without her
Is a dwindled dawn of orange

My nerves sit and wait in pink
Ceremonious to be alive.

Cloud of Mercy

Art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/her-eye-wanders-511915830

The heart is burning with separation
What can cure it?
God, divine love, unity

The mind is weary of anonymity
In an uncaring world
What can cure it?
God, divine love, unity

The day of judgement is upon thee
Who can face it?
Your soul with god, divine love, unity
So the soul becomes the loyal friend

After personality has
Faded away and time has given up
Poetry remembers all of this

And that is why we write
The Beloved is an empathy
As wide as the universe

Suffering brings us close to the goal
So do not recoil from it
What can save you?

God, divine love, unity
Like a lost bliss in creation itself
Or a high smile evolution’s brilliance

What can cure the choices we make…
You know already the spiritual condition.

The Soul Achieves Herself without effort

Gradual is our relationship
with the grace behind nature
another spectral October Fall
how the wizard sun confines

and the flamingo sunsets wave goodbye
the fires ebb, the flowers cease
their sport, the stars wink
at snowflakes on their fall

to carpet a sparkling web
sapphire moments drift by
at dusk in the cities
there is a soft glimmer

in the streets, it is cold outside
as we bow one by one into
our brief solitude, with visions
to guide us for the labours of tomorrow

paralyzed by the savings of gold
or the lack of savings in our bank accounts
the wisdom of life is a brief release
the details we once scrutinized

no longer seem so important after all
to live a good life, means different things
at separate points in our story
and nothing in the end intoxicates

like the God neurochemical
call it what you will, the spirit
lives on after all these subplots
the search for a diviner brand

of metaphysics, philosophy, utopia
until there are no visitors to our soul
but a diviner truth, a more united feeling
gradual is our relationship
with what’s beyond the scope of years.

Photo Courtesy:

1. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Be-on-the-road-with-warmly-thoughts-482560577
2. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Deer-Collaboration-483167431

THE LAST ROMANTIC

i

I’d like to write a Love Letter
To the act of writing herself
If I’m alive now, then I was dead
When I didn’t write, it’s Skyward again

ii

With unbothered Golden Sun
The blueness of the stars is my
Final muse, the magic of the music
It’s not easy to state the changes
Internal, apprehending language
Is a habit of association that didn’t convince me

iii

My spirit craved something more
Than duality and dull metaphors
So I soul-shifted into the gear of silence
For a Silver Breath, and it’s a gift
To be writing again, Love Letters as always
To a world, I didn’t always know

iv

What to make of it, tragedy unfolded
In months of boiling water and multiplication
Tables, how the worlds counts her profit
I knew I didn’t want to exist in a vulgar way

v

My most prominent objects were inside
Subjective, I was like the last romantic
Of a generation, giving free-feeling a fair hearing
Without conforming to some drab pragmatism
Just yet, pretending I was a spiritual guest
In a colourful experimental world, language
Could suffice, at least as a tentative medium.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/silver-sleep-and-pomegranate-flower-453025759