The edges of my life are still blurry And sometimes, It feels like I’m flying alone.
Moon tells me this is not so. “It’s all in your head” she says. Cloud becomes indignant… “And what am I to you? All these years I have performed At your every whim, Creating mood and color?”
Sun waxes stoic. “You hurt me with that assessment, But I understand your condition. Sometimes, We stop seeing what our eyes are telling us And we listen to that recurring nightmare That will not leave us alone.
Open your eyes Live the beauty set before you. Let it fill your every pore. I will cover your face With the energy That fosters love, gentleness, And kindness. Isn’t this sufficient?”
October 9 marked one year here on WordPress. Thank you everyone who has been a sun and moon to me in this crazy expressive world.
photograph is multiple exposures – post includes color shifts and light texture
My life with you has been like lying down in open fields. I can smell the odor of decay, and I am at peace with its joy. Life to life we walk this way, unencumbered. The absence of oppression between us has been long fought for. Maturity has molted away those childish jealousies.
When we visit the sea, we sit close enough to the water’s edge to feel the rage of the waves. They set a strong tempo for our hearts. Like the beach, we are constantly changed for the better. Together, we support many lives. What a gift, to welcome the rising sun! Listen to the sounds of squabbling birds who eventually settle into the race, this becomes our choir.
In these last steps on the path to our home. I can smell the scent of our garden. The musk of tomato and squash. Gardens of so many years…so many harvests. Some more plentiful than others. Yet, it is the bounty of something shared where we find our treasure. We have lost ourselves intentionally, growing renewed and perfected. Looking back is sweet, but who we have become is worth more and is more durable than harvests and breaking waves.
There is no legitimacy to be found in me. My words vomited from the stomach of poverty. Music from my hands created from abject illegitimacy. “No academic training? Good god, please stop expressing this trash.
Your voice rings boorish. Apostraphising, plagiarizing, bastardising the mediums beyond recognition. Incapable of discerning a sonnet from a haiku… Worthless.”
Can the path tell the sojourner Where to go? If my shoes once belonged to my brother, Am I now my brother, My identity stolen by mere words of another?
To be handed low-status beginnings Pot-holes waiting to be filled Is disqualification by the masses. An existence rubbed out By conservatives in liberal clothing.
This calamity, this inadequacy This stupidity claiming to hamstring the runner Is indeed my bulwark I am too irrelevant to realize these things matter And I just continue to speak
(multiple exposure photograph by me)
There was once a time in my life when I lacked confidence. I listened to others who looked to criticize and not critique and let it color my self-respect. We have all been trained in something. If that training leads to arrogance, then we have performed the most egregious act against that training.