Zen Poem for Peace
Some folks still live in the memories of their homes; floods, hurricanes,
quakes, volcanoes, insecurity, disorientation, panic, and confusion.
They look at the wars and air their views about what they breathe,
see, hear, and feel because they are still alive. The view of life can be
shaped by truth. People need lands of love to create new citizenries;
bright tracer fires of the wars and the red of Aurora on the sky can redden
the snow, the trees, the moon; blood and sufferings; hearts;
to bless and to sprinkle holy water; expiation and inspiration.
to harm life for the purpose of conquering the whole world; getting
nowt: to own something that no longer exists; to be a symphonic poem,
a dwelling place for words needing interconnectedness to enhance understandings; telltale
dimension; God, the gift; folks like pink sandcastles or like age-old allegories undergoing
the Renaissance; all are born to run into their shadows.
To be buried in order to become living worms; a part of us; not useful;
missing words; living words that grow up and multiply; memories.
Words and Echoes
An echo reflects a voice, fading into the distance
and transforming into a celestial resonance.
A voice emerges when someone speaks.
Imagine the echo of a long-winded monologue.
A word breaks free from the self, no longer tied to its origin~
to become a ghost; a specter; not in self any longer.
A specter can resemble the remnants of the paraphernalia of
those screaming sorcerers that have intriguing insights.
A word is a tangible idea, a vocal expression.
Sometimes, the impact of the heavy expressions can generate
seismic restlessness around; butterfly effect,
volte-face, and transmogrification; weaving tales in the haze;
the cantankerous and splenetic tones can resonate
atop the mountains, where the prayers are being billed as
messages to heaven; ascension; clear-sightedness;
to kneel in prayer, despite the tension of
clenched teeth for the essence must always find an assumption
in the deep-rooted words;
to craft mellifluous verses that captivate the hearts of all who listen.
Imagine the ashes of those hearts still aching for holiness, akin to echoes;
enduring suffering and sacrifice for a willable deity
existing in both the past progressive and future perfect tense.
The words are refracted echoes of their former selves.
Imagine the void of divinity and the thoughts that have been forsaken.
No comments:
Post a Comment