Tuesday, June 19, 2012

in triplicate


“… a yawning cat converts stretching into praise.” ~ Lance Larson ~
               ****
Converting stretching into praise
one must find the center within
Where all breaths are made
Within this space there is a melody that sings to every life
The notes blend in harmony
With nothing more than a glance
Where valleys and hills come together in a dance
It is here you’ll find the space
To bring the world its grace
It is here you’ll find the rhythm
Where minds can explore
Within the shallows of the shore
Converting stretching into praise
one must find the center within
 
                ****
Wandering notions of my mind,
tear into the fabrics of my thoughts,
practiced lines become null
while grandeur leaps into the void
there is nothing like a good knock
to bring your head around to the point
across the space of sound
rejoicing within the lanes of time
hoping for events to rewind
leaving no stone unturned
hoping it will not burn
through the layers of defense
before you are stricken hence
too little
too late
too much
want more
want less
never before
will forever be enough
for thine is the power
of the third circles lore

               ****

To thine own self be true they say,
but no one knows which truth you are holding.
No one can see the depth of your heart,
the breadth of your soul,
the distance of your logic.
What ifs
and never befores
give way to why nots
and what would happens.
Tomorrow is another day
and the sun will always rise in the east
and set in the west
so why should the rain fall into the hinterlands of lust
and loathsome valleys of pleasure and pain?
Why not heed the tides of deception
and gather the reigns of truth
whilst the paths are diverging
into the shadows of the soul?
The world will not end.
The rain will still fall.
The moon will still wax and wane
among the stars and clouds
and the sins of the father
will be forgotten for the actions of the son.
There will never be a time
when more becomes less
because the legends live on
and the myths cater to the whims of the masses
too slow to change before the stories have begun.
There is no hill too steep to climb.
There is no river too harsh to cross.
There is no time
except the minute that is before you.
There is no change
except the desires held in one’s heart.
There is nothing except you.

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