For the Self who never believed
THE BEGINNINGS
Judge them By Poetry
See her twisting through form to form through your days and nights; from the lighthouse for truth, it rolls in the waves of the sky, your head, and transmits. Such words uttered themselves in the quiet hours of the morning when the page is waiting and the pen warming in my hand and all the world was asleep:
"Judge them by the poetry they inspire you to write."
And so we shall.
Stolen hours
the sun has not yet completed her cycle
these are my favourite hours
this moment
when all the birds wake in synchronicity and sing
as if to say
look with fresh eyes
hear with fresh ears
i am comforted to know each is in its own home
and how many homes are made so close to where i sleep
the air holds a new clarity
it has not yet been corrupted
by the energy of the day
it sits in between the notes of the birdsong quietly in wait
it lingers in the moments between the tings of my teacup as i stir
it scolds the closing of the door with a compassionate heaviness in the air
every sound i make is a tidal wave in the peace
every sound i hear is at its clearest and most transcendent
the sky lightens infinitesimally with each passing moment and i am aware of them all
i mourn with the knowledge that this will soon be tainted with the bustle of people waking
cars blundering along frozen tarmac
towards meaningless jobs
wasted time
it is at dawn i feel most whole
knowing i am awake fresh and can see with the birds eye view
i can see these stolen hours were gifted to me when my eyes opened and would not be closed
this morning and all the 4ams that i have shaken by the hand and embraced
now the clouds are my blanket
now the sun is my breakfast in bed
now the birdsong is my unending new day
captured between the phrases of silence
Birthdays
We were born in meditation,
YOU ARE READING
for the Love of an Hourglass
PoetryPoems from every walk of life, from beginning to end, and the birth and death of love.