Hope’s Home
When questions drip in endless throngs
where minds are left alone
without accessing hidden songs
sung from the Master’s throne,
(whatever that might actually be,
in any case... unknown)
it, with things like poetry
and dreamery and stone
through ravenous curiosity
drives thought down to the bone.
At the last of my thoughts there’s a place I can’t see
more real, in its depth, than the light
that offers up mere semblances of pure, unstained delight,
and it’s as black and empty as the stomach feels in flight
that screeches downward toward the sand without clear hope in sight.
It’s a dark, stern room with a blank average score
and hasn’t a ceiling, a door, or a floor;
the place that I reach at the end of the line
that shows me for certain I’ve always been blind -
(but also that 'hurting’ has been in my mind ;)
There’s something in the hollow hours
spent resting in that room
that brightens every living flower
touching lovers and tagging tombs,
that I believe my soul could scour
for infinite legions of afternoons
only to learn that perfect power
is shared by each and every dune,
and every feathered, falcon shower
sent by way of the moon.
From there, where no fact comes to say,
‘The answer is X; the Truth’s this way’
I realize something I should have seen when
my journey toward Truth in the first place began,
and that is that we are the hope we all need
and that we can spring from the depths like a weed,
in blind, hungry fancy without any facts
to guess 'there’s a good’ and to hoist on our backs
the dreams and the smiles we wish to prevail
regardless if there is no wind in our sails!
We are the dance we are coming to know!
We are the stars in our very own show
as we have been granted, in omniscient style,
a hop, a high five, and a lifetime to smile...
in piles ;)
~~~
But still there are the questions that will take the smiles away,
if not for all the time there is, at least for half a day,
(well maybe not a half a day, 'cuz come on, let’s be fair,
there’s just too much to smile about at wander everywhere,)
but there will be those somber notes between the crib and hearse
sprouting from the soil of souls until their cages burst,
and that is when the neatest thing I think I’ve ever seen
resounds, shows up, all ready to work, and keeps on happening...
the chance to light the room ourselves is there before our skin
and we make love to Emptiness by offering our grin,
and though we may not know a thing, (not one darned thing at all),
we bounce back up to honor and to answer living’s call.
(The softest and serenest sounds there are to hear are those
that leave no hint, no evidence, upon one wind that blows
that there is something prominent and waiting to expose
the reason that the room is there until then I suppose,
because we get to blindly love!) We need no splendid rose
cascading in the breeze backed up by glory in glittering rows
to say to life, ‘We welcome you!’ - to love the awesome day
and all the night and every sound and sight here anyway!
