Voice of a dream

Lost in the atmosphere,
moon slips in and out of cosmic clouds
patterned after my thoughts
on this cold-hearted night.
Luna Moon sits gently waiting
and I know at dawn I will find here there still,
sailing high in the blue sky
like an eye on the mere mortals
that scurry below on grounded roads.
Where would we go if we could fly to touch
her stoic white porcelain face,
to float in her space
paying homage to the beauty found,
would we come crashing to the ground
when all was said and done,
as her fickle self kept moving
round and round,
would she speak to us once more
through the dreams we cherish,
curled in the warm cotton cocoon waiting,
would she spin us in her orbit
like small children again,
merrily we would roll along
beside her mighty form
and so very small we would be
dancing in her shadow
in and out of the light of the cloud
that shrouds her at times,
she always finds us though
waiting….always waiting for more,
another glimpse
and another space between slivers of days
that pass as fast as she
on cold November nights.

Image found on Pixabay


Words split the soul
segmented spaces lay waiting
step by tentative step we climb
into the beckoning splendor
of a tranquil sky.
We pick each one carefully
the lightest and deepest specimens
kept in memory jars till ready,
we pluck each tenderly
and put them in their proper place,
perfecting the balance
to rise.
What waits in shadows we know not,
yet fearing no evil we move forward
knowing there will be golden light
as we gather our needs
filling pockets deep for the journey,
the soul is never burdened
for the lightness of being
encompasses the truth known,
this is our journey
borne of our seed as we came to be aware.
The skies our canvas to paint the lyrics
and our earth the box of color we use
to create our mood and delight
as we set aside the heaviness that lingers,
brushing the crumbs away in the light of day
as the coolness settles the skin,
we dip our finger brush in
and wash the moment as we see it,
perfection of the life we live,
a breath of beauty surrounds
and we rise into the peace gifted.

Bowl of memory

Running fingers on smooth edges
dipping in to the emptiness to find
the dust of faded thoughts and memories
lingering just out of reach.
Smooth blue skies call to the waking soul,
walking in unison to the mornings first breath
as dew hangs on air
cool breeze ruffles cotton playfully,
slipping its fingers whisper-like in
to touch the skin
easing the fire.
Round in circles like birds in flight
floating on clouds they slip on air
and I rehearse the mantra of a new day
from pages studied with a feverish need
dipping into the bowl of memories
to wash clean.
Empty and spotless
the inhale and exhale of yesterday,
letting it slip from existence to new form,
invisible waves gather and I watch
through wake and sleep as the tides rush out
taking away I find the peace,
truth and trust
my release.