Author

Pen poised
As though its scribbling
Shall offer notes prophetic
To writer and reader
Both are me
Hoping this pen shall grow lips and speak
Secretly my ears do long for filling
Speak pen
Raspy voice or dulcet laden
Speak
For art, I care not

Is there but one thing thou shalt jot
To prove worth my reading?
What substance canst thou provide
To weight this airborne nothing?
Of course there is none
Not one stroke can improve me

Yet
I perceive my lacking
A phantom dog doth chase his tail
With hopes the catching shall prove him real
Yet, even in his catching the substance is naught
Double foiled
Double fooled
My only resolve is Oneness

Thirsty Pilgrim

Stop asking "Why?"
There is no answer that will quench thy thirst of it
The more thou sips of why
The more parched thy throat
Instead
When Life's decanter is passed
Drink of "Yes!" and "Thank you."
No matter how bitter the taste
And thou shalt ever be sated

The Walnut

How long have I acted the walnut
Ever trying to shield me from Thy picking?
Thinking my resistance some integrity to Thy pressures
How long have I held fearful of my virtues stealing
When all the while the thief was locked inside?

Praise to Thee, that Thou hast cracked me open
Thy works have never been what nut conceived
Sure, Thou art no villain wanting vengeance
But sweet bondsman who hath freed me of my cell
Now I feel my yearning spirit blossom
Now, at last, my roots have grasped the soil