Wednesday, November 23, 2016


Eternity does cradle slow in forming fractalicious shape,
that dance of pure becoming wrought in silent, perfect steps,
and in the doing so creation does display and twist as minuet;
time holds out the baton, determines when there will be rest.

Within the cultured moments of the endless active hours,
there comes a perfect balance  then made manifest,  revealed,
in purpose calligraphed upon the heavens truth has wrought;
so then is meaning, purpose and intent no more concealed.

Slow breathing into being is the call from angels sung,
and trusting that the process will endure, forever moving on,
then does the mind of God incarnate in the material world;
so are we birthed to our becoming, whether short or long. 

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Who Am I?

To search within the almost seen, scramble in the mind,
to rummage through the coats of past, seeking so to find,
who I am and who I was and who I still might be;
so does love draw gentle hands across eternity.

Who was I then, who am I now, and who will I become,
so do the questions roll and taunt when certainty is gone,
and who I might have been, or could, has drifted on the wind;
so do potentials reach an end, before we can begin.

That morning when I woke in fear and huddled into Self,
as dreams and deep imaginings were tumbling from the shelf,
so then I saw in scattered wreck the tramplings of my heart;
and realised, that who I was, had never played a part.

And yet it had been written, this tortured, searching path,
which led from birth and on to death, as pure and soulful art,
for in the journey to become, to know and render true;
I learned the shape of  what was me, perceived, what was called you.