Between a Sigh and a Scream

kiss4She was holding on to a man broken
every gesture made, every word spoken
was a desperate cry from a place so deep
that he can only reach it far in his sleep

she holds him together so the pieces don’t fly away
keeping her balance as he kneels to pray
sometimes he sees her, sometimes he doesn’t
sometimes he lives in his past, sometimes his present

she implored, she beseeched
she tried action, she tried speech
if you cannot love me, let me know
if you will not love me, let me go’

But he holds on, as if holding on for dear life
as if he is drowning and every stroke is in strife
as if she is the only thing keeping him afloat
as if she was every single word he ever wrote

and his eye remains to the shore –
someplace clear but far
it seems within reach yet
more distant than a star

katanamore and more it appears an exercise in futility
finally admitting it is beyond her ability
she drops to her knees, eyes up to the Master
trying to prevent her heart’s impending disaster

the weight is so heavy, so hard to bear
hope only comes in the form of a prayer
with hardship comes ease, promises the Beloved
but try as she might, she cannot rise above it

despairingly close to losing all hope, she implored
her tender hands bleeding from the double-edged sword
would letting go bring relief or a tortuous void?
would her heart remember the previously enjoyed?

~ epilogue:

Then one quiet night upon an angel’s wing
she heard a voice that only an angel can bring
somewhere between a sigh and a scream
somewhere within  a half-awakened dream

She watched him float above the ocean waves
his  feathered wings skimming the waters surface
catching rays of sunlight into pristine prisms
a radiant reflection of blue-green and turquoise

From the edge of clouds,  he finally spoke
and his words became a poem
singing sweetly behind smiling eyes
gracefully gliding over the ocean foam

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Stillness Upon the Surface of the Pond

“Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened
but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace,
like a clock during a thunderstorm. ”
~ Robert Louis Stevenson

ripples

Sometimes you don’t like the person you become.
It is not who you are,
not who you want to be..
that person of fears and insecurities and ‘wants’..

Sometimes that person emerges,
in moments of darkness,
or lack of clarity.
But that person never stays,
those feelings never stay.
They are like the ripples on the surface of a pond
when it is disturbed by a pebble, or a branch..
They don’t last,
and the stillness returns.

You are that stillness.

You are not the ripples.

When there is stillness upon the surface of the pond
we can see a clear reflection
of the trees, the sky, the birds flying above
a clear reflection of ourselves,
and of those who gaze upon our visage..

It is the ripples that cause distortion;
we no longer see the reflection as it is..
it shakes, becomes unsteady,
the mind can’t make sense of it..
and we feel uneasy~
afraid.

So much changes day to day on the surface,
but underneath,
the stillness and the calm can remain.

We simply have to learn to recognize the ripples
for what they are before they affect us,
as mere disturbances,
and have faith that the stillness will return

if we remain calm,

if we remain still.

It is not always an easy task to remember,
to remain still..
to recognize the ripples
and we find ourselves acting in ways unworthy of our true being.

But sometimes,
someone comes into our lives and helps us to remember.

And they do it so gently and lovingly
that we are sometimes not aware of what they are doing.
They don’t get upset..
They don’t shut themselves off from us
or see us as unworthy
or walk away.

They stay open,
allowing their wondrous light to keep shining,
lighting our way ~

They remain that mirror that we need
and we are able to see ourselves,
our true self,
without the distortions.

They are able to see the ‘stillness’,
even when we are affected by the occasional disturbance.
And as they steady our world,
they steady our hearts.
They become our stillness on the surface of the pond.

You know when someone like that enters your life,
a divinely-wrapped gift from heaven ~
inherently and wholly.. you know.

May we all find such a gift.

‘Written’

Image

“When there is stillness,
the Beloved enters like a mist.
I am disarmed of my words.
There are no empty pages to be found…
and my pen has run dry.
The hours gaze from a clock with no face
and I am delivered from the clutches of time and space.
My eyes reflect light from that of a lantern
held by a wayfaring messenger.
She says, ‘I am not writer, I am written…”

~ Skip Maselli @Proseplay