Here I am found behind locked door
To a life I swore to be no more
But, what has been gained, is lost
It is to moments of life, the cost
Hidden by the shadow of what was
For no reason, just because
Movement of time has given to dictate
What will be, not given, but to take
Forlorn is the cause de jour
Not to be exposed, but demurred
Reason for last chance to find remedy
To a life borne to hardship and calamity
When?
The beauty of Moon’s brilliant light reflecting on the still water of the harbor cove betrays the anguish felt deep inside as I sit gazing upward at the dark night sky filled to abundance with the flickering light of constellation’s stars.
Absorbed by the wonderment of nature’s paint I seek to find answers to questions’ manifest, reasons for humanity’s self-inflicted pain, dispensed with the hypocrisy of remorse.
The defilement of life’s abundant values given without price; expended as though worthless: life, taking life.
What virus of evil did mutate into the genetic of humanity to give rise to its indiscriminate ability to espouse hatred by voice and physical action? An evil so dark as to seemingly expunge the full essence of Love from the spirit soul given to all with birth into a world of unquestioning beauty and abundance to be had. What wayward action was it that led it to traverse our planet without impediment or impunity to find permanence of residence in all, yet diverse, cultures?
Were an alien intelligence to look upon the dualistic actions of this earth’s inhabitants it would assuredly too, be left to wonder the root cause(s) for this profane condition. Like a child spoiled to indifference to the riches unquestioningly given it without want for reciprocation but to appreciate the inherent value of its worth and, to cherish the opportunity for its giving.
How long can this insidious profanity be allowed to continue without an ultimate price to be paid, to render a final solution that will fully purge the disease sickness that holds to the genetic roots of humanity and its progeny of generations to come? To allow the full goodness of the Soul’s spirit of love that freely resides in all at birth, to flourish and expand in the course of life’s given journey before entering the next realm of energy’s domain.
News today of the passing of Leonard Cohen, a great and inspirational artist to many poets, song writers and, performers over the last several decades; a contributor to the Arts who will be greatly missed. A true Icon to creative persons around the globe.
In remembrance to his significant contribution:
Inspiration
I watched
I listened
A humble man
Creator of words
Magical expression
Inspiring thought
Stimulating senses
To survive his years
In poetry
Or
In song
His Mission
To inspire
An icon
To poetry’s
Throng
Through words
Forever
Lives on
Leonard Cohen
1970 – Leonard Cohen
Reflections of a turbulent time long past
Emerges again for all to witness at last
The personal story of an artist then great
A talent time’s passage could not fade
His verse of song pronounced and deep
Speaking to the truth of love all of us seek
Leonard Cohen’s poetry somberly wise, reflective
Portraiture of life seen with unique perspective
Gained by the artistry of this unique insightful man
Immortalizing a presence we still struggle to understand
Are the roots of my behavior anchored in the thought of not knowing the ancestry to my beginning, lost to the passage of time, expunged forever from the frail, failing minds of those who preceded this presence?
That I should walk blindly into the unknown struggling to gain handle-hold of the truth that will propel me forward unimpeded; rendering concrete proof to this troubled passage steeped in the evidence of success?
That a modicum of recognition edges its way beyond the shadow of the spotlight’s beam diligently focused upon they who are deemed to warrant the energy?
Are these the asking of one selfishly deprived; looking, striving to be realized in the flesh of this time; a time that is ticking ever faster toward its end unresolved to the want emblemized by these words spoken?
Or am I just feeling the anc’s of the coming anniversary of my birth’s birthday?
Tumbling under the tumbleweed,
Watching life from body recede,
Praying for forgiveness to bleed,
Knowing not what truth to believe.
Heaven holds promise to life given,
Forgetting awareness of promises driven,
That life is meant for those bent on liven,
What chance is there they are in fact riven?
Hell provides an excuse to excuse,
Those given to others to abuse,
Or ultimatum to refuse,
What amounts to a pile of garbage refuse.
Darkness hides from glorious light,
Deceiving what is most given to fright,
To harness the strength to give flight,
Especially when darkness arrives in the night.
What ails in the heart is not to be forgotten,
In the end, it transcends what grows rotten,
That’s why tears are left to be sought then,
Absorbed in ‘kerchiefs, made of fine cotton.
Awakening to this world increasingly in disarray,
When will this needless suffering go away?
Cluster bombs, extreme weather taking innocent lives,
When will we take serious the global, human, deathly cry?
Who are these leaders that make the charge?
To what end do they allow this to go so far?
To allow suffering on such monumental scale,
Can they not see their deemed leadership, disastrously fail?
Have decades of brutal war on every horrendous scale,
Not taught humanity, this is a defeatist’s path to curtail?
Trillions of dollars expended to advance this inflicted pain,
All to the benefit of those, out of harm’s way, to richly gain.
Political platitudes and ceremonial remembrances become insults
To those willingly giving their lives, to remedy these egregious faults.
Expending the future of humanity, being lost to needless death and strife;
What monumental event will it take to bring back a loving, harmonious life?
Requiem of Spirit
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Requiem of Spirit
Insignificant are these words that fill this page fore they render nothing more than a stain. Stain markings as feelings, thoughts, ideas of less importance, impact upon the direction, course evolution takes toward an end. Contrivance of communication subject to seeing by blind eyes, being heard through deaf ears, never to be spoken. The encumbrance of thought compiled line by line, expelled to satisfy each moment toward their meaningless, meaning or purpose. Collected, bound, volumes comprehensively fomenting artificiality of presence recognized, though invisible, amidst the masses of trite representation to the same. Succumbing to be buried, lost to chance to be forgotten, dormant upon the ageless shelf of lessor importance. Energy expended without reward of return, fading to darkness: The End.
This Requiem of Spirit: Creative Mind, lost of its meaning to gain furtherance to expression brought to the Conscious that grave for its experience be brought, by reading minds’ imagination. Allowing for the Ether, Heart of Soul, be brought tangibly to Life, through the senses expunging, from each taste, stain of Word: What it is to BE!
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