I believe there can be joy in stillness
and beauty in the torrid vein;
That yesteryear lives through us
in ever greater twain.
Whence we walk the placid pool
or merge impassioned theme,
It is ours to wend and ours to weave
the calm or mighty dream.
Our bodies lie betwixt/between
coats of glowing color
Which forge our role as king or clown,
ancient sage or fowler.
So do not shirk from stillness
blurred and stamped by pain,
But loose the tightened portals
blocking your domain.
These are keys divinely placed
to solve the mystic riddle,
Enabling you to scale the crags
with lordly grace or little.
The mountains' mighty crags encrypt
the nature of our souls.
Breathe and breathe your mountain
toward its true, archaic gold.
Embrace its plight, its heat, its love
with passionate resolve.
And know that such a journey is
the meaning that evolves.
In fact, pain prisms heaven with
ever new unfolds
Imploring it to show itself
In ways forever told.
Until in words of light and color
whilst miracles occur,
the angels bend to hear us
within the sacred Word.
No questions asked, no answers given
mystery maintains,
as era upon era plays
upon the earthen plane.
Birth and death peel bell and chord
through mighty breath's domain
Shriving when and where and who
and what again, again.
I believe we move through space
too intricate to name.
Whilst Mystery and Metaphor
grow our higher brain.
So we can see the splendor
of Cosmic's sacred flame
Which dances round our circle
of Eminent Proclaim.
I believe that trees do speak
and clouds have language too;
with forms and shapes gleaned by the wind
ever to renew.
So count your solar planets;
Look at Hubble's prints.
But know just this and doubt it not:
There is everlasting bliss.
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