Serenity is the ability to cope with conflict

Serenity is the ability to cope with conflict

Nothing every exists, entirely alone
Don’t let perfection concern you
You’ll never reach it
Everything is in relation
To everything else

And the facts of your life
Will not cease to exist
Just because you happen to ignore them
Don’t depend on anyone
In this world for even your shadow

Will leave you when you’re in the dark
And when you live truly
The world stops, it stops and all
That exists is staring at you
Nothing ever experiences, entirely

If it’s not completely immersed
In what it is doing
And finally, there is nothing
On this earth better
Than a soul you can connect

With on every level
So be sure to not chase perfection
Be sure not to live in isolation
Be sure to depend on others
Be sure to walk with shadows
And be sure to find a soul.

Between Silence and Music

I will defy the movement of language
With syllables soft before the snow
For Autumn in the fewest chosen words
Along lines of simple alphabets

In the palm of my listening
I will observe you walk as a poem
Skips across ethereally this earth
With colors and bodies of Christmas

An instantaneous impression of beauty
I will sing a lullaby to the irreproachable sky
And kiss the poem-greeting letters
That dissolve as a soul among the trees

And the centre of music
That is a living expression of the times
Today the sun comes out in your poem
And I listen for the poem I will write in reply

I will be a hero of a recluse today, again
With an inner smile of jewel-pointed clarity
That the imagination is a universal thing
The night’s sheerness of black gardens

A voice from which religions spring
Spiritual movement completes itself
In an intuitive release of meaning
A letting go of the sadness of having come

And gone, like death, poetry takes me there
As a river of music, entering my blood
Chilling me with a serotonin symphony
The joy of being here, the glances and reflections

Of existence, mirroring poetry
Between silence and music
The snow and sun, men and women
The rain and drums stalk my fantasies.

Photo Courtesy:
AGNES CECILE
https://www.facebook.com/agnescecile
http://agnes-cecile.deviantart.com/gallery/23399055/Featured
https://www.youtube.com/user/agnescecile
https://www.facebook.com/SilviaPelissero

Only a Passing Shrine

I live with Him – I see his face
Death, the sundown visitor
The look that claims us from the invisible
I’ve seen people die of grief
I’ve felt the enormous conviction
Of hopelessness, going unloved

The Stillness of the Room
When the brain stops being creative
I’ve looked in the eyes of the elderly
Tried to find the light in their eyes
There is an uncertain stumbling buzz
In the way I feel incomplete, in

The notices of feeling alive, intense
Is the lack of beloved visitors
The absence of true friends
Proof that physicians are wrong
About the human spirit, do I have
Permission to recant, permission to forget

That this life is a series of goals
That I learn and am growing
From traveling proceeding?
To Ache is human, it’s not polite
It’s just mortality’s oldest custom
The little toil of Love, on the edges
Of all that I hold dear….