One

An ancient knowledge

a remnant truth

learned in the time

when Man was youth,

 

You are not, or ever were

alone

that feat, my friends

cannot be done,

 

Those tricks we use

to separate

are as dreams

and without weight,

 

These tricks

that cause us so much pain

are a vile poison

in our veins,

 

Leaving us lost, confused

depressed

souring our happiness,

 

We’ve told ourselves

they’re useful tools

but of what use

heart-broken fools?

 

There is not

an Us and Them

there never was

it’s never been,

 

There’s only We

and We are kin

to each and every

living thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Weight of days

When more days lie behind you

than those that wait ahead,

each one on it’s passing

leaves behind a weight,

 

It presses not upon the muscles

nor upon the bones,

This weight of days I write of

is borne upon the soul,

 

Moments grow to hours

hours become days,

No earthly scale I know of

tells the measure of their weight,

 

It equals not to bricks

cannot be matched in stone,

It’s value may be that of lead

or surpassing even gold,

 

It’s worth I cannot tell you

it is you who must decide,

it’s total sum reflected

in the wrinkle, scar, and line

 

 

 

 

Release

As the scales begin to tilt

and more days lie behind me

than those ahead

My thoughts wander

as they more often do

to those I’ve known and loved

whose names can no longer

be found in the book of life

I mourn the empty spaces they left

knowing those places will remain

dark and silent within me

I mourn my loss

Should I mourn theirs?

Their lost worry?

Their lost fear?

Their lost suffering?

Rather I rejoice

in their loss

in their release

 

 

 

 

 

Knowing One’s Self

To know One’s Self,

is a lofty goal, rarely reached.

We look into a mirror,

and flatly deny what it reflects.

We proclaim that we have no answer,

when our fear left the question unasked.

We justify our wrong action,

with excuses we don’t believe.

We take comfort in our ability,

unmatched by any species, to deceive ourselves.

How few among us,

will accept what is to be seen?

Will voice the question,

aware that though the answer may be painful,

ignorance is intolerable?

Will freely take responsibility,

for each of their actions?

The Pagan Poem

Come,

Sit by the bright, bright fire,

Your eyes show all who look,

that you are tired,

What’s this?

You’re shivering with fear?

Know now that,

Naught pursues you here,

The dark forest where you felt alone,

Is to us a sacred grove,

The beasts that yowled and those that cried,

Announced to us that you’d arrived,

That clamor that the wild things made,

Was a welcome to you that they gave,

Freely enter the stone circle if you like,

None are barred except by choice,

Of judgement we will extend none,

Druids offer only love.