Poetry, spiritual, nature, oceans, love, trees
I wanted to study myself
from a distance looking back
so I sent out a telescope
as far as I could reach
intending to turn its eyes to me
but it kept looking out in space
I sent it out a thousand miles
and called it with my name
but it kept looking out in space
I looked for myself
in the disappearing distance
and cried out come back
but I kept looking out in space
He heard the echo of footsteps
retreating from the empty game
of his life
felt strangely naked
walking the halls of normal
without a personality
he used to have one
everyone does
maybe he lost it
in transition to this world
what are the rules here
they shift like a mirage
in the desert
he keeps crashing into walls
disguised as figures of speech
he wants to climb the ladder home
there was no other person to be
he has to inhabit this one
it is his life
there is no other voice to speak
he has to speak this one
it is his voice
Gradually
on my journey south
piece by piece
everything loose
was lost
what remained
was either worthless
unwanted
or parts of me
that could not be taken away
I made a list of the songs
of my life
a mix of dancing with pain
a heart wrapped in skin
with eyes
joy in the mountains
peace in the ocean
equipment wearing out
the music goes on
heart beats into the rhythm
of the sky
The great certainty
shadows
the small uncertainty
Once upon a time
we all fall down
ring a pound of poses
a parade of roses
and we all fall down
between rocks and hard places
eyes and frozen faces
we all fall down
row row your boat
we still fall down
Mary had a little lamb
he fell down too
Some days when I get up
I play a game I call
fill in the blanks
I move around doing the things
I normally do every morning
hoping that eventually
a human will come
to occupy this moving
empty space
the game ends when he says
ok I’m here now
sorry I was late
There is a necessary
transition period
when you are passing
through a doorway
first you are here
then you are here
In your search for answers
do you ask a passing train
are the broken numbers left
at the end of crooked lines
if you make a hole in a circle
will the center all run out
when you arrive at the end
is this where you begin
In the gathered green distance
of his choices
a curious animal turns towards
the nine rainbows of conclusion
he knows some things cannot be
even when he considers trusting
the wild eyes of now
the voice of here
or the rumors of anywhere
he has to tell his story
including the nine tilted windmills
of connection
daninmaya 