It is dark…the dawn rising from slumber in the winter sky…why do I write this words? Does anyone care to find them?
Words come relentlessly to mind, not always meaning what I want to say or convey my true feelings.
Is it not clarity the elusive thread I wish to spun? Or truth the related cousin of deception?
I play with words and mock myself, yet I love them, even the imperfect meaning they convey. Is there another way to share one’s soul, lucid and free of doubtful adjectives? What is a mind wrestling with its content?
Or a soul where words miserably fail its true expression.
The simple, enjoy the daily ramblings without regrets, and others give free rein to their
venting. I doubt that words are meant to flow like waters seeking a place to pool, rather as a river held by its edge, even falling from the mountain peaks they seek the course of least resistance to claim a path to the open seas.
The merging of the rivers, the rivulets, the overflowing rain all claim their path to the deep ocean of our soul.
Is there a time where words will be erased from the conscious knowing and as
the wind unseen caresses the earth, the soul in silent awe, will embrace truth, clarity and a meaning we will not doubt.
Arise my kin to the inward calling of a blessed day of liberty where free of matter
and blood our soul will rise, ascend to a wondrous world of eyes that see
beyond its own reflection to depths and heights ever imagined, a mystery
revealed of eternal beauty resting in the soul and forever mute.