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Saturday, June 09, 2007

The Listening Prayer


I listen to the absolute silence
echoing the dying burr
of the calming of my mind;
while I ask love to grant
my fingers to write
another verse; to pour dreams
into my heart that sleeps
on pillows of words,

feathers plucked as fine as down,
quills laced with devotion
and some such tenderness;
choosing silk softened syllables
rustling on breathless air

that burst open
like novae of great stars,
to speak of the flipside to fairy tales
and to wake thought that sleeps
in semi-conscious souls,

love is such a poetic commencing;
it is an alphabet
handed down by the greatest gods,
a synthesis of all the letters
that become words shaped into meaning,
in every fabric of life
that sings breathing,

it is a prayer that
requires the listening
as well as the asking;
for in a mixture
never mixed before,
is each love brewed.


I listen to my humanity's
most basic way of working; touches
of thought heard as
devotionals being read;
waters that soften
the daily shattered clay;

I am the life
that will flash before your eyes

it says, I am the light
at the end of tunnel

I am the love
you only need win once
to be loved unconditionally
so be faithful to me,

and I hear in its
steady beat the
multiplications of desire
that confound all equals,
writing its poetry
is subservience to
destiny and immortality;

it is to be a lover of light
yet to appreciate the night,
because light
is seen more clearly
in the dark.


I listen to a clock
on inner walls
tick destiny's mileage,
as though courting kisses
from voices
that speak in memory,

they mark the places
even as I leave them,
and on my return
I am given the gift of self,

like bride presented to groom,
I marry
my experiences
at an altar where
love speaks to me,

when I am young, and
when I am young still
life will be a miracle worker,
an instructor of
magical conundrums
to the naif ear;

this is what I hear,
and I listen so I can
remember me to love
of who I am.

Main Index | Part 3: "Conversations with Love" - page one | two | three

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