“Contemplation VI”
Forgive me dear soul,
for there is little
wonder to my movements now.
I have grown complacent in all things,
and lucrative in none.
My soul is drifting in wasted climb above
the world I hold so near...
a muddled definition in the fold
of some cloud;
alone and cast out like one drop of rain
too many upon this mighty earth.
Pure...
insignificant
servitude...
mock bondage of uncertain years
to weep
un heard
unheld
unknown.
There is revelation in my mind;
a swift movement so resolved
my eyes fill with the swirl of such a
lucid light
that haze of forgotten mysteries pass from my sight.
My thoughts aspire freely
merging into every chasm,
gently pushing a
sweet and temperate magic into yet a new realm.
My potential is expanding in a delightfully new way,
forgiving every fear I’ve every known.
Leave the souls which never dawn to their times;
Their roots are knotted,
shallow, and brittle.
My roots are the edges of dreams
and extensions of thoughts that reach outward
to meaning
outward to fullness and not to passions of
clay.