The souls leaf

    The tree sheds its leaf so the soul casts off debris no longer befitting. 

    The tree sheds its leaf in the time appointed. The eye beholding this can clearly see, it is foolish to dispute the wisdom so clearly witnessed.  The tree warring against its own nature, and the seed from which it was formed, only death and barren are eminent. Victory will not be given to a foolish toil. 

    The soul bares witness to this wisdom. Casting off debris no longer befitting. Remains lay dorimant upon the ground. Unseasonable, no longer able to feast at the table, to dust the souls leaf returns. 

Seeds of redemptionĀ 

  Glancing upon my remains an echo released itself within me

       I couldn’t forget anymore. I couldn’t labor this away, the seat of affections refused to go unheeded any longer. I could no longer remain sightless, my eye refusing to fully behold the truth.
     I parked my car in the same spot several times. The sole of my foot paced this ground many times. What awaited me this time was different. It would change the numbness that dwelt within. 

     I had spent many months on this rock battling what resided within. This stone my verbal expression. War had engaged upon this slab, releasing emotions upon its surface. Slumbersome seeped from my soul and upon its features absorbed. 

     This rock had thrown me off it’s surface many times, breaking a shell until it shattered. Glancing upon my remains, a glimpse of a seed that echoed within my soul, “there is no other way for the seed of redemption to open, except it be broken by pain, and watered by tears. Nothing is exempt from redemption. You will learn to hunger anew.”  

What no eye can seeĀ 

     The eye cannot see rain upon the soul 

     Sorrow arises from impenetrable darkness.

The soul moans and tears fall where no eye can see. 

The rain falls and floods the bowels, until the vessel is full. The soul betrayed is purged by its downfall. 

Darkness once unpiercable, now permeated by mornings continual dawn. 

A poets ink

     Utterances of a soul marred, births words of taint and rhythms of chaos. 

      Another’s ink formed the poets words. Expressed stanzas flawless in rhyme. 

Aforesaid by the tongue of another. Words carefully crafted, born of a soul assembled through commonality. 

Self estranged from self, the recesses of the soul touched superficially. Afraid to penetrate the souls depth, the poets ink in weariness grows alien. Tired of existing through facades, the poets ink searches the souls impentetratable depths.

The soul drenched in the poets ink births utterances flowing from a soul marred, writing words of taint and rythms of chaos. 


        Utterances only the spirit being can discern 

     The truth within dwells without sound, behind a veil immersed in pretenses. 

What’s so gravely abstained from, one needs to cast the eye upon and give thought to. 

When truth is allowed to disrob, utterances can be understood and witnessed by an inward knowing that most desperately reject. 

A soul longing for veracity perceives the utterances of truth. Only the spirit being can discern and explain these utterances.  Within pain lies verity. Pain felt in rawness will bring forth healing.  Resting beneath sorrows lay truth. Sorrow allowed to have it’s perfect work brings forth joy.  

The truth that lay beneath pain and sorrow, if allowed to have it’s perfect work within, will set the soul alight. 

Silent beckonings of stone

       Slumber had ensconced the stones unerring visage 

     The rock untouched. Many passed by beauty for slag had veiled the stones natural essence.

Beneath the impurity lay what is pure and unaffected by the stain that had masked a natural beauty.

Slumber ensconced the stones unerring visage. 

The stone yearns to be released from the dormancy and the dross that enshrouds raw beauties. 

Shrouded within me

     I had needed to taste of self for the betrayer dwelled within.  

     The enemy had lay within, buried by distractions. 

The adversary shrouded within, camouflaged by dawns light. 

Reflections absorbed in what lay visibly. 

Ponderings vainly drenched and propped up the seed of illusions, concealed in false hopes. Birthed by a word. Nurtured by the eye be holding a cliche ineffectually. 

The eye fixed on what is tangible but I needed to taste of self,  the betrayer had not lay without but rather rested within me.  

To taste of self and recognize the betrayer within, the deceiver without cannot bind. If the fool within had not been concealed, masked by the days toils, the foolish without would not attach so easily.