Through this clear barrier,
I watch the happenings, exterior.
The butterflies that surround,
dance in life’s miracles, light bound.
My lips interwoven in thread,
soon the last of once me will be dead.
Muted in this cocooned silence,
vulnerable to my minds twisted violence.
The notion to tear,
still not there.
Capable of enduring my full gestation,
free of the binding congregations.
Left alone, the thoughts dim,
to think this started with the seed of a whim.
My landscape reshaped,
solar heat dances through barriers in engulfing quakes.
What will rest as I peel through the cracks that form,
will reign at complete peace after the storm.
The Poets Cut
Originally written in April 2011 this piece was to encompass a time during my experience that a great amount of inner reflection was occurring. Its the trick about reflection...we spend so much of our time being self-centered we think we know who we are and what we want. What I discovered was it was only when I began opening and engaging more people and experiences was when the purest self-informing occurred. This is not a story of isolation, rather a story of active observation.
We do not know ourselves until we have journeyed knowing others.
The image was later created in 2015, driving in some great desert rains I had the fortune of snapping a random shot up and out my windshield while waiting at a red light. It wasn't until later at home I found the wonderful cloud imagery I had captured.