Happy Easter beautiful ones.
May you rise from your many dying, life draining parts and patterns still rotting in funeral shroud and leave them behind to be mourned on some darker day. And rise now, rolling back what ever covers your hearts tomb to rise again and allow the flow of life through.
Let love move through here, through our body frames and illuminate our dark insides and whatever lies with in & with in them.
Be illuminated like the moving pictures. Let's see it in your eyes starlit like your mother said they once were, or was it your lover who told you?
When was the last time you gave someone something sparking to look at and had the courage to let them stare?
Beautiful one, I miss your eyes, please undrape and come out from the dark. And I'll wait, even years, with hope of a new happier life that seems as yet impossible in loft of happiness and brightness given the dark we've known. But outside the cave, at intervals, forgive me if my waiting yields to screaming and pushing and pushing. I know there's light out here and I want you to know that.
The truth is we are always and always waiting to push back the new cave door within ourselves, mourning desperately the one within and waiting to enfold them in our arms once again and always. Or waiting always and desperately to open up another part of ourselves to receive love fearfully that another part may see it in the light and love it.
We are all engaged in an endlessly love affair, with Spring tempting winter out of its clothing and so on and so forth. How can I not get so wrapped up if the whole world is wrapped itself? And so I ask, universe undrape me, as you melted the snow and shaken the leaves, shake out the death from my hips and the cold from my wrists. Make me hot as breath on a lover's neck in a subway in July. I'm done with careful icy step and thickened garb. I want to dance and I want you there too. Here comes the sun.
May you rise from your many dying, life draining parts and patterns still rotting in funeral shroud and leave them behind to be mourned on some darker day. And rise now, rolling back what ever covers your hearts tomb to rise again and allow the flow of life through.
Let love move through here, through our body frames and illuminate our dark insides and whatever lies with in & with in them.
Be illuminated like the moving pictures. Let's see it in your eyes starlit like your mother said they once were, or was it your lover who told you?
When was the last time you gave someone something sparking to look at and had the courage to let them stare?
Beautiful one, I miss your eyes, please undrape and come out from the dark. And I'll wait, even years, with hope of a new happier life that seems as yet impossible in loft of happiness and brightness given the dark we've known. But outside the cave, at intervals, forgive me if my waiting yields to screaming and pushing and pushing. I know there's light out here and I want you to know that.
The truth is we are always and always waiting to push back the new cave door within ourselves, mourning desperately the one within and waiting to enfold them in our arms once again and always. Or waiting always and desperately to open up another part of ourselves to receive love fearfully that another part may see it in the light and love it.
We are all engaged in an endlessly love affair, with Spring tempting winter out of its clothing and so on and so forth. How can I not get so wrapped up if the whole world is wrapped itself? And so I ask, universe undrape me, as you melted the snow and shaken the leaves, shake out the death from my hips and the cold from my wrists. Make me hot as breath on a lover's neck in a subway in July. I'm done with careful icy step and thickened garb. I want to dance and I want you there too. Here comes the sun.
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