I take the devil out of its box.
To make a big stand.
the ancients disregard the plan.
They do not hold me aloft.
hold me beneath.
I am only stones and bones.
A misguided sage song.
The ancients know…
I can only bequeath one.
And, one lust only.
Decadence for thoughts that are forever lonely.
There are many days; dreary, dark, and unsupported by my truth. Many moments as a, woman, an artist, a overly thoughtful person, where I judge myself way too harshly.
‘Wherever I go, however…there I am.’
In these times of uncertainty. Uncertainty in the world that drips over the edges and becomes…my personal space.
These are the times, long as they may be, I must remind myself of the following:
There is no destination to the woods
they are a churches that have no doors
a corn maze to which there is no end…no beginning
a quiet voice…ushering and soothing.
The lingering pines are sage infants waving you in
Fixed scales of clamour and forever reflection
And, yet, I am convinced they welcome me in
There is no ugliness in the dark, it now soothes my soul.
It is pruned and hidden behind all that I know.
A midnight hour…now, has become as slow and methodical, as a turtle in spring time.
Quiet, watchful and meandering.
Where there had once been discomfort from the levels of kindness…
I offer myself, whatever will be…will be.
Where had once been fear and disenchantment…
No more hardship.
I am hidden and appointed…no longer is there someone else’s misery.