Last Words of a Poetaholic

The moon sets, like an anchor
Of the Stars, a tide of white silk
Floating down to the Oceans
A tree by our house waves
In the milky light of Tonight

Reaching as far as the little boat
In my dream, I am the river
Of light coming down as a bird
From the mountains, swift as
Time, the moss covering my youth

These rustic windows look out
On to flowers by the shore
Spring never needs to hide behind the sun
Steep cliffs block the Moon
From my view, hermit-clouds

I envy you Nature, so masterful
I am only a guest in your blooms
Not even the path that leads me
Up to daybreak will remember me.

After Heraclitus with Kundalini

To sneak upward is one way to reach God
My teacher said to learn to be transparent
To bathe in silence and watch the waves

To shed in the cycles of time
To renew the spiritual skin, again & again
Until you are so alive
That nothing can stop you
All nature is a fire

So learn the alchemy
Of transformation, befriend change
Shine on the sunlight and praise the metamorphosis
Dart with the ancient hieroglyphs

Learn what the ancients meant
By spiritual discipline, conservation of energy
The same river of the universe is always there
We burn in it and are taken away

Only to age in rugged paradigms
One step closer to quantum realities
Self-preservation is a spiritual event.