The Centre

We had carried plows and carts to draw the charts of our eventual return,

Where astral readings would review the dawn of our early reign;

Hoping just to see the morning star beyond the sign.

And absolve the shadowy mistakes that offended the design.

And ushered in by sunlit faces, that spoke the language of our dreams,

We asked if we were really separate from every fish that fled the stream,

As we sat in hidden caverns, and wrote our thoughts in clouds,

That dissipated as the moment went, and rained in celestial shrouds

Into splendid clothes that we could not wear, and a fruit we had to chew,

As the mathematicians of the heavens wrote the answer was not one or two:

Where our deepest desires flourished into auburn lands,

And every unborn leaf was loved in autumn splendour,

And the patterns of our parents reframed the meaning of a man,

Within the inter-stellar cosmic vendor.

Where our father let our flesh be eaten by the cannibals of old,

Who had read in ancient books of how devoted whips are sold,

And a cow of untouched gold, had known her silent majesty,

Who had once announced that everyone who’s here is free.

Where our dreams of climbing to the moon were extinguished in terrestrial vision,

Of E.t. chalking on a metal board of our inherited aggression,

Asking just the flowers to arise in compassion’s bloody tears,

And restore communication in salvation’s ear.

Where we walked in empty, free processions, through these fields of wheat,

And reconciling with our mother that had lain beneath our feet

We sat within the garden and were washed by golden glinted trees,

That had given to the rain and drifted in returning seas.

Where we sat among the circle, and saw the centre of the sun,

That asked the corn within the earth to grow,

And absolve confusion until opposites are one,

And ask the skulls of the deathly kingdom just to show,

As the moonlight lays its whitewashed blanket down

And everything was recreated in the morn.

Where we sat around the timeless well and cupped the angel water

That had manifested as the essence of a golden face,

That glistens in the heart of every person’s matter,

Who become what they already are, if they retrace

The droplets to the centre of this timeless seat,

And let the purest flower imprint the heavens on their feet.

The Journey

As we spoke through clouds of billowing smoke,

And gave our frozen hearts back to the centre,

Where, reflected from assembled faces,

The fire illuminated history’s traces;

And begged the wheel to spin a new beginning,

To ride upon these music notes a remembrance

Of our deathless grinning, and fold our features

Into the sand – of how the moth and light do understand.

As we left our sleepless nights so serenely wrapped,

In canoes that rafted through eternal autumn,

Of a realm before the search was mapped,

As we blinked our baby eyelids on the purest auburn shores,

And wept to find how the wheel had turned before

To bring the outcasts to their shelter,

And drench them in such heaven’s weather;

To leave their loves behind, and be reborn within the tide,

Of timeless people woven in a net of skin,

Who read behind the signs and found the kingdom touched within.

As we begged for more, but had to face the films,

Of how we were stranded on the shore,

And had to gather our things, and become the people

Who had seen with teary eyes and braven heart,

And could peacefully pursue the roles that we had wrote.

To hold the lantern just for those to learn;

Of how the ghosts ascend the stairs.

Children of the Earth

The garden in the sunshine hid the elements of creation,

As the shadows in our body begged for useless speculation;

To find the touchstone that the lantern ghost had hidden in our eye;

To reveal the planless space of how the moon had drifted from the sky.

The endeavour to be freed from notions in our brain,

Had left us most untouched by streams of time upon the planes,

Where the eventual winter washes us in frosted rain,

And the unborn lamp is dyed until the earth is whole again.

As auburn leaves displayed upon the ground,

Circulates within the body to explore the faces that we found,

Until divisions drift into the purest well,

And mountain tales pour rain into our painful swell.

Songbirds sing of signless lands, where only the enlightened dead may cross,

To figure out the truth at hand, that purity is held in judgement’s loss.

The keys onto the kingdom are held within the bleeding heart,

That helps the limping man ascend the stairs,

And washes in the well his might, to be correctly standing there.

The father tells his sons of the burden that he bears,

To arise in absolute forgiveness of the confusion that we wear.

Until we peel away our faces and fall into the centre,

And find within ourselves the being of our mentor.

I cannot stretch my mouth but to explain,

How the heavens dripped their hollow rain,

And the light extinguishes again,

The progress that we made.

But the scripture that is crumpled in our shock,

As the masses ate our body,

Have revived in absolute forgiveness our luck,

To conceive another story.

The Flower

Why do I love you?

Why have you remained through the pain and shame of birth

As the redemption on my shoulders; the inconspicuous angel?

Why did I understand you, unlocking the secrets of your heart,

That not the hounds of hell had heard in hundreds of years?

Why are we both older, but still the multifoliate diamond glistens in those tears?

I was moved to move you, as honesty had not heard before;

I pleaded you to keep me in, and not close that door;

Because I was made to withstand storms and shipwrecks,

Preserving just the rose hidden in a glass-bell;

Or else nothing I have said before has been of value to society’s lips,

And we shall all remain fools of happiness.

And your sweetness as the product of a damaged world,

Is a lesson to us all that remains unheard.

And though your devotion to society has not strayed from its path,

Your essence is untouchable through the aftermath.

How did I know you?

Like the auburn colours of your autumn hair,

Strolling so sedately through the masks we wear.

I thought I found you, amongst all the people you have been,

But sometimes words cannot reach through manipulation of sin.

I loved you then, because even though you spoke so little,

You held a sturdy candle at your heart, and continued shining

For your continuation and a new start.

Rivers of Time

I am the candle that lights the darkness,

The boy running amok amongst his misty corridor,

The candle shards waving goodbye to strangers left in dust;

The hours that fade, as the sunrise must.

I am the hooves of antalopes, parading in the sand,

I am never going home again, to where the magic wand stands;

Giving up the shelter, for foreign forests must come;

Standing alone beneath an umbrella, in the tornado of the storm.

I speak in riddles I myself do not understand;

I change with the fashion of the seasons, and become another man.

Going home, where no one knows me, for the light I am;

And secrets flutter incandestently between conversations,

Like the sunrise appearing on the table, in intermittent constellations.

Forgive me father, for I cannot speak;

I am not done doing the time that I keep.

I am the answer that rushes like the wind through closing doors;

I am falling to my knees, before the world’s most beautiful whore;

A truth that has not spoken, since we were reincarnated, before, before, before.

I am the eclipsing moon, on the auburn African shores;

The arrival of a rebirth, a shipwreck stranded in paradise’s core.

I was left before my last words were spoken, or my hand could clutch;

And did not ever end speaking to myself, of that sweetening touch;

And did not finish changing to what has always awoken;

But is still doing time, in prisons of rhyme, to melt that desirous token.

Hide & Seek

I manifest within the luminous folds of a forgotten phrase,

The unknown story of memory’s television maze;

The future cast within the curtains of the sleepers stage.

I soak into the roots of charcoaled willow trees,

To blossom as the cycle of nature’s changing spree,

And flower as the multifoliate heart, in which the coldest winds are free.

Intertwining the division bell that ripples through the sea.

I swim through eggs unborn, to the masts of the shadow’s storm,

Fading through soils of death into the restoration of the spring’s breath.

For I’ve died a thousand times in every eye I meet,

I swim through rivers of time to the shores of infinity’s feet;

Falling through a golden stairwell onto the ellipsis of an unformed guest,

Who is never fully here, nor there, but everywhere; in the centre of the nest.

I manifest as the dreaming searcher on the shores of now,

Asking to reveal the candle of my silent vow,

To embrace the lightening of our final fear,

That curtains in the mist from which we hear

The single drop eclipsing in the opened ocean door.

To ignite the multifoliate design, and dissolve into the cure.