someday the light

The light has led the way to freedom, a power
that melted hardened hearts and iron chains.
The light that finds its kindred
in the seat of the spirit's throne-
the royalty of every man and woman- shines
from the inner flame, the fire of life.

It is the light that fills darkness
it does not lurk to howl and growl
and frighten the child in all of us.
it is a light of Love...

 I do not know yesterday it is the shadow of time
nor do I see tomorrow, for it is a page yet to be.
I believe in the joy of happiness, and that it  belongs to all;
someday the light and I will touch it.

Cloak and revelation

Dreams carry a spirit's touch
a conversation about sounds
a smile drawn from a time far past
a knowing glance that pierces time
like an arrow into the heart of knowing
existence extends from life and other ways to be.

There is a distinct familiarity in this first sight
been before but never, known in discovery,
owned and surrendered- spirit speaks
of the ordinary; ordinary is the cloak worn by revelation.
I sense, reason, and collect the grains of these moments
these sands withstand the winds of chance and change.

They stay, held in my willing palm, subtle alms
 given to my beggar's heart wanting to know, to feed
on this wisp of eternal reckoning; i watch the curl of lips
into a broad toothy smile, and i watch myself...

I wonder if there is a way, to find a day, one
 can repay such gifts as make life repeat its voice,
extend its breath and beat?
I think and think not, but feel
a deep inhale beyond air, into a deeper breath
pure and simple as that which has made me.

a bridge nearby

Crossing a generation with a touch, a smile,
and a soft word on a hard day; in the gleam
from a younger set of eyes comes moon glow
from these generous Suns.
Time traveled at the speed of light-giving Love.

Life moves over paths not yet made, through
dark storms, brilliant light, and unforeseen difficulty.
Unspent is this fortune we hold, whether purse deep or tattered,
the treasure held is precocious and rare.

Without Love,
life is a barren dream, without hope,
each day is a drying stream,
slowing to nothing, and flowing to nowhere.

There are moments that we wish to keep
but cannot hold, falling like sands through fingers
lost to whims of wind; yet, one can keep
the feelings shared, the pictures etched in the center
the heart- each grain, pure and unique.
It is a bridge nearby that links distant places.

thrones of commoners

 

Sewn together by sinews of courage
bathed in valor of heroes, blessed by Mothers' sacrifice
the body politic of democracy proudly wears
the scars of age and battle, and the crown of
every human's right to equality.

To defeat the strong one
the Devil binds her hands

Bonds made in the darkest night
when hearts yearned for peace not found;
faith was formed in the face of the rising sun.
When, like dawn, freedom wing spread to soar
over yawning chasms of dread.

A nation rose to grasp for greatness
measured by the thrones of commoners
by moments of nobility
that broke the chains of slaves. It lives
to make life plentiful.

Those that seek to defile the ground
made sacred by solemn vows of me to thee,
and thee to all else, can find
that they sow upon a Providential wind,
and will reap a bitter darkness.

jealousy

 

how i envy the air that gently touches your cheek,
makes your eyes blink in and out
as you make the moments I miss;
I have jealousy
for the water sips that wet your lips,
for the moon glows that crowd your sight
in the gaze at stars and discovery.

Such jealousy, I should be ashamed.
But insist, when i look at your deep water eyes,
and the longing there, i know
i have no blame;

it remembers...

i have known the sweetness of your touch,
 the warmth that climbs from the goodness of your spirit
to glow into my eyes. I have seen the sunrise
in our greeting
and the dull fall of dusk in your leaving.
The sad sound of mourning doves fill
the air that covered us as one.
In the echoes of woman sounds, moments
when we raced the round whirl of night unto day
shoulders and knees, breath unto breath, and
whispers through pressed lips.

I have known, and my skin, it remembers

Jefferson's Shadow

In a conversation about Negroes,
a dream erupts between the solemn thoughts;
given a sight of this day what would they say
that lived with chains and punishment?

I feel the deep recoil as they see themselves
In the modern eye that cannot find the bridge
Where faith guided each step,
and only the hope for those to be
Filled their present emptiness.

I feel the pride of prophesy
When, as if drop by drop, their forgotten prayers came true
Though ripped by dogs and hatred;
Torn by evil that hid in plain view.

A conversation about Negroes cannot withstand
The urge to laugh and cry; the nobility we should have
The inheritance trust, proofed the good of mankind.
When the blood that found fire
‘Neath marks of blue and grey, commingled
for a cause uncertain, a nation gave birth
To a greater self.

A conversation about Negroes distilled a crucial essence
Of a found truth in words meant for everyone else;
that the utterances of freedom and joy-
spoken by self-appointed royalty, caught drops from sky and courageous eyes-
Came to gather and flow into an endless, deep river.
Carrying freedom within breaths of a doubtless vision
On its slow meander into a boundless sea.