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.