Your ways always finds ways to make me smile

To which you are totally unaware.

Your laugh, your voice, the graceful lilting form

That houses your spirit which permeates

It with a buoyancy that defies age,

Your questing, introspective forages

To the deeps, then to the heavens, then back,

Always searching, probing, thinking, longing.

Years ago, living in the present ruled,

A tyrant demanding magic moment 

After magic moment, but somehow time,

That slippery serpent which torments us

With its loss, lost this battle and redeemed

You to yourself so you could redeem it.

Your thresholding phase is past.  The future

Beckons now, ever present, always pressing

For answers posed to questions imposed by

Those who have no understanding of you,

That delicate, flowering you, unfolding

Before eyes that do not grasp your beauty.

Beauty is but a word; you are but young,

Wanting a world ideal, a world where love,

The ideal word word, predominates

Over all other human impulses

So that the word and the gesture are one.

But the prospect of facing life’s “hard facts”,

Of making a living by giving up

That which makes you breathe and gives meaning to

All you have ever known, daunts you in your path

Of finding your path so you can avoid 

The plight of the many who have settled 

For finding death in life and life in death.

Your voice is awakening.  To others

As well as to self.  Let it always speak

Unfettered by convention, but tethered

To the very stars from which our substance

Originates, from whence it will return,

In a pattern nature mirrors in time,

Through the season’s perpetual passings,

Where the old is made new and the new old.

The pattern dances.

Here now.

Quick now.

Always changing. 

Always the same. 




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