O frost of mine, On lip, on hip, on thigh. A Frigid night, a biting day, those teeth are jagged and unafraid. The spite of lessons learned and made on cold memories Warmth now distasteful to the cracked earth. Yet within lays lust hurt. Suspended and waiting. Stinging, stripping, desiring.The warmth in convalesce. Administered by sun’s copper breath, stretched thin and diluted. You touch, you welcome, through the cold burn. My inner sun to invite the outer one.
Oh, Sunflowers, even in the dark, you glow. Lined in your opulent rows. These streetlights hold their own.
Remembering echoes, shoes make on well-worn stones. The memories of travelling feet. How do flowers bloom in the arch of the dark? How many people do they greet?
Even in the rain, and on wind-swept faces, sunflower petals remain, reflected in puddles and window panes. Those Sunflowers bask in the sounds of passersby. Guiding safely, until morning, exhales and sighs. Dewdrops form. Their comfort reminds us of the sunflowers left behind in the storm.
For dew drops beckon morning with a welcomed release from the dark that keeps its peace. Dewdrops are the ones to grace the start of the day to remind us of the promises we delayed. To be given to light and in the dark remade. With sunflowers to become our shade.
The altar of your receiving is your body. Its feelings are the sacred purification. Your mind is its prayers. You are but a temple to your receiving of life, the people around you.
Your inner call of your hidden child is giving through the hands of your now. Your inner child vows to serve her through the asking before the giving.
The Temple of the Sun gives birth to the bright moon. In her face, you see your glory. Silky light makes love, oh lovers’ gown. Worn thin by the weary day as he takes his steps closer to you.
His garments hide a story of his independence untrue. Strip him naked to receive his moon. Heart, he was not without her grace! Her silver body he then makes. Alter of sun, undo undone! Yet the sun and moon are always one!
Temple of yourself in the infinite, your altar of receiving has become one with day and night. We weave the ends. Seemingly separate and alone, the unity we become. Finding ourselves in each other, and the deepness of the mirror goes beyond. We are sowed into the infinite divine.
And one day we will leave no footprints behind, and others will then make them. No trace of the essence of our time. Yet what we leave remains in hearts and minds.
Those people are lasting flames, outnumbered in the memories they have made. Put those also in the temple of your sun. Where will you meet them and return to each other?
Child, lover, father, brother. Mother, sister, bring them all. Warm them in the fires. Your skill or what you love is the creative stroke. The Creativity you make brings into the world something that lasts inside.
We are not meant to keep what we find, but let it go free, from death to birth, the ever-changing journey, to embrace our worth. We will all meet one day, in the blades of grass, the seasons that pass. The raindrops on the ledge and the morning dew. where we will all be together me and you!
Build not yourself these walls so thick, to keep out the passers-by. It is all so short to miss each other, as we rise and die. Let’s let each other in these houses and temples of our bodies we have made for ourselves.
The forbidden in yourself that contains the other half of your life. This is the same as going into the sacred softness of the womb. The splinter comes from the log. In turn, the seed also comes from the earth.
The darkness, you seek it out to liberate it. By marrying it to yourself. You open the closed fist that is yours. You penetrate the soft womb to reveal the other half of your soul. Crack open the shell. The unseen and seen is yours.
Let the light lost dark take its place. Is what is buried beneath the tree wrong? Its roots make it strong. This is but part of you. Darkness nurtures the light, and light nurtures the darkness.
The far reaches of the branches of the tree are only visible in the sky because the roots of the trunk have not been seen. Sometimes, what is not seen is the very foundation upon which you are built. If you are not seen, nor your touch felt. Know its foundations, built on something stronger. At times, you may feel like a flimsy leaf in the wind. You are anchored to life!
