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So we faltered, afraid
sacrificed wisdom for love
fell down myriad trap-doors
into acres of sand, oceans of pain

And our wounded head, tight as a trumpet
bows down to desolation and greed and the
name “human” has been wiped from our face
by the lies that our tired eyes and trembling lips
have to pronounce over and over to please those that
please us, but the pleasure is painful and the invoice is
beyond our capability.

The Shadow Knows  (but the Sunlight Feels ...)

So we Stop.

And We Ask.

“Why”.

But why is not enough.

Then, before our Hearts take one last desperate Plunge into the
abyss of Recycled Souls, the furnace of Unforgettable Fire …
the desperate “why” that has no voice, no face and no age
crumbles to a pile of humility, Lost Sand, nameless Ink.
Spoiled words on Crushed Velvet… and we begin
where the arrogance ended.

 

We begin with the Lost and Missing Friend.

Who, we’re told … has never departed.

But waits.

Pleasantly, dreamily …

Patiently.

For the Aching Emptiness to turn inward on its own
Cracked Window, it’s own Card-House Calamity.
Its own Secret Entrance-way.

Its own Birth Canal.

Open Window, Aching Soul ...

It’s Krishna blowing on the Sacred Flute.
It’s Jesus booting the Merchants from the Temple.
It’s stars and  galaxies all blinking mascara eyes at
your One Lonesome Trembling Soul.

And “I Am Not Alone” emerges as the
preferred Melody by Ascended Doctors
who Wait in this Delivery Room.

This Long Canal.

This Crying Shoe that Never Really Left Home.