Peace, an elusive thing you are, I have known you in fleeting moments At best--- Would that I could see the whitest of doves, Feel the lightest, glancing touch of feathers, Hold the olive branch for a moment— Yet, how can I partake of such a luxury when— When children’s bellies bloat in hunger When those of one religion kill those of another When those of one skin hate and kill those of another When men rape, beat, kill women When children and women are bought and sold When humanity seeks dominance over all the earth At the cost of future generations? Yes, I want to see the white dove with the olive branch fly— To know the world is at peace To know my daughter lives in that peace To know all the children of world will grow knowing only good Then death could take my hand And I would willingly go In peace.
The daughters of Lilith condemned To chance a gory laden death once again, All the while, standing vilified as they Who wear the mantle of Lilith’s power have always been. Tomorrow and all tomorrows after, The daughters of Lilith will rise With the glory and power of their mother, Breaking the chains men make Seeking to steal the power of Lilith residing in her daughters Thus, breaking their spirits to subservient acquiesce. But each of Lilith’s daughters will remind Such fearful little men Their mother was made before Eve And fashioned of the earth as well.
With ramshackle shards Of heart, soul, self Falling away like the browned petals Of a long-wilted bouquet, We create a riotous noise In ramshackle attempts To find some connection. Lumbering, awkward attempts At reaching out to touch once again, To replace, to freshen The brown wilted and missing parts With new bouquets of spring Whose stems sit in eternally Fresh, clean waters. We dream of a life lived No longer ramshackle, With no long-wilted bouquets Of a past to haunt with falling petals, But a life returning whole, To move without noise Through the world once again.
Todays prompt: “waterfall wishes”
She will never fall to earth again After soaring among the stars, The planets a blur. No. No. She will never swim In the deepest oceans, Cavorting with dolphins and whales. No. No. Never will her soul fly, Brushing shoulders with angels, Their wings touching upon her face. No. No. Never these things. Never these dangerous things again. Never allowing illusions to gain sway. No. No. She will plant her feet firmly in the ground. Her heart cemented in her chest. Yes. Yes. That once mighty waterfall Has slowed to a trickle As there no longer exist Any waterfall wishes.
Is this what you, indeed, wish?
The feel of some bold mystic chaos
Contained within the fire of kisses
Traveling along the boundaries
Where lived an identity
You lost long ago—
To feel that chaotic fire
Burn away the identity
You wear today—
Feel passionate softness
Twist within and around
Leaving bruises unseen
And you undone
In twisting mystic
Chaos of fire.
to feel that glow,
let it flow within
and know in peace,
the truth held within it,
rolling slow warmth
like the sun in springtime–
that glow, that warmth—
nearly, yes nearly extinct,
such a rarity to be found
though some try incandescent tricks
in mocking mimicry
its rarity rivals the hunt for new alabaster,
which always served a cold master
and there are no dreams glowing still
of truth to be held within the fragile
beaks of hummingbirds forever
searching the lush gardens of Babylon
for a heady nectar that does not exist
We thwart not the sun or the moon, the movement of planets, the coming of rains or drought. We neither thwart our birth nor death. We try to thwart what our hearts feel And the desires with which it plagues us, But our hearts feel and desire still. Even our tears cannot be thwarted-- though they may not fall, the tears fall unseen.
Who is to say
From where her power came?
Did it flow from her silken curls?
Or her painted red lips?
Her white skin that glows like the fullest of full moons on a cloudless night?
There’s no way to know
From where her power came
To break through stone.
Petals of these words Capture not your true essence, A perfume to me. The rarest flowers With their soft, fragrant petals Are waxen mimics Of You stretched, glowing sleep A contented, wonderous sight Perfect perfection.
Can’t really say how it happened.
But it did. All those years ago.
Some may say it’s a pity or a sin.
All I say is I survived.
It was the lava, really.
That’s at fault. Yeah, maybe
me, since I did let it in.
Into my network of arteries and veins,
letting it flow until it coated
I turned to stone.
I walked in skin and could yet bleed.
But, sure enough, inside—
I was stone.
I felt nothing.
And that felt good—
To be cold as stone.
No longer part of the network of humanity
Though I walked in it—
How perfect it felt
to feel inhuman,
to feel nothing at all–
At least, for a little while.