Mouthpiece of the Fish
I have stepped into the ocean
Not with gills or fins or
The mouthpiece of the fish
I have stepped into the ocean
Immersing myself within deep blue
Every orifice full of crimson tides
I have stepped into the ocean
Unable to breath or see
But full of life and vision
I have stepped into this ocean
And I am clean and weightless
My heavy heft his heaved
No kiss to wake the early shine
or to embrace the accents of coffee
‘nd the sweet ash of early morning drags
No touch to rouse noon appetites
or to swell amongst the mockingjays
Whilst the he-bird sings so whimsically
No love to sleep the silent eye
or streetlights to silhouette distant lullabies
sung by passing insomniacs whispering in the night.
Ponderings of a Pilgrim
Solomon's Raging Vanity
I have nothing more to express then what is rhythmic and true. Forth coming from nibble fingers that dance in flow with memories of days long gone and forgotten.
This is my vanity my futile end, the lost recesses of wisdom and sensuality. To scrape and wage against the past pretension that binds like religion to Hume.
What am I that you are mindful of me, what am I, a shell of lost thought that you consider me. What are my circumstances that bring forth your immense?
I wish not to fight the cradle, but my deception writhes against solidarity. Listen to this, the ponderings of a pilgrim long past my destination.
A shell is hallowed and deceptive nothing more then a tomb inscribed with words that fade as the horizon.
Breathe of truer eternity then the vanity of thought provoking eloquence.
Drink of beauty deeper then the façade of vacated premises.
The secret is exposed in the grandeur of creation, it is the world else where, and the saints vision of beatitude. What it is is worth having.
In The Whirlwind
As the crisp night seeps into the morning light
all is awoken to see this newfound glory
the blissful eve of the greater design.
For we are the contingent and live and breathe
based on the grace that has been given us.
And when this new land is laid bare before our eyes
a gift of passion renewed fresh each dawn
we as pilgrims meander through
fraught with finding Him that creates.
He is deep in the whirlwind,
immersed within the practice of His existence.
Creating, Sustaining, Wooing.
