I am a poet
Alone, amongst those who would deny such a claim,
and those of my wound-mates who know it.
Something gave me that epiphany,
The knowing, I was witnessing
the wind, the scent, the sight
so, you blew apart the cosmos and let me in
showed me the here and now
and the there and then and
that the end of me would forever begin
and you totally dug me.
Man, I was accepted!
And, oh, had I sinned!
you enjoyed every wounded aspect of the soul I’d been.
You saved my life.
Where are you now, my friend?
I know you’ll be there at the end
but what of that taste?
Where are the arms of this Love I can wrap myself in while I’m here?
can you physically one day hold my face gently and say
Oh, my beautiful soul, every thing is all ways ok!
I Love you!
All of You!
The bent and the straight of you,
the murky and the clear,
the smooth and the rough.
Would that I should seek you within where I’m not quite enough
in my own heart, seduced by fear.
Oh, my BeLoved,
lead me beside still waters
restoreth my soul
Naked, surrendered, clear,
make slow abandoned Love with me, my dear
and hold the special space where we become the Seer
of all that beauty
Love, and Truth, and Light
no Original Sin, only Original Right…
I’ll open up my world to let you in.
And yet, this fear within, knows that prayers are given
in response to the desire deeply hidden
within the hearts intent.
The Universe nods to our wants or whim
and we get what we’re sent
exactly what we believed we deserved.
We are heard.
We are free, and I see
because the BeLoved Loves me
very fucking rarely.