Dying Season
You have always deserved the space I hold,
free to soar in a sky of circumstance.
A life in tune with playful forces,
where shadows rule not lest allowed.
Grace in time with the nurturing of strength,
humbly guiding who has searched in ignorance.
Unspoken beauty my words forsake in
streams of thine flowing awareness,
I keep the gate of sinful indecision.
Although there are moments among moments
battered with identity,
to observe familiar feelings
yet again become hostile.
Can will not be found among comfortable behaviour?
Pastures once laid in, now dying in season.
Chemical cornerstones removed to collapse.
You belong in this role of countless imposters,
move forward boldly in a sea of karma.
Not just the existence of fear but with no understanding,
I now know ’tis but a fog of choice,
to assume position among the swamps of history.
