Poems from a Bus part 2

The Moon and Night Sky

Like two secret lovers
Entwined in one another
The darkest of nights
Contrast the brightest of lights
In the purity of their sadness
I stand softly tonight

The night constantly flees from the imminent day
And each time it steals another lunar piece away
Until it seems as though there is nothing left to thieve
Emotionally exhausted, the moon finally takes its leave

But once again, it tires of the loneliness within
and it returns, so gleefully, for the cycle to begin

yet the wondering wont cease,
will there ever be occasion
for the moon to finally flee
without reconciliation

leaving the night to lament
for its unbeknownst affair
grieving softly for the diamond
it once cradled in the air

the game is demonstrated,
perhaps we miss the play
for in this endless clash of love
one will always run away

Resurfacing Thoughts

once again I stand with you
bantering as lovers do
the play I miss
the play you win
my eyes reflect outward
you cannot see in

professionally cheerful
my game is untouched
torn down occasions
you lift me up

pushed forward
pulled back
by opposing sides

moving for progress
staying for sighs

your portrait hangs
outside on the grass
i see you there now
not letting life pass

i'll take you home
walking to the door
move in for the kiss
my eyes searching yours

seize the moment
in your hands
and feel the way it falls

let sense remain a window
to view memories recalled

Invitation to Life

This is a piece of wisdom that was shared with me, definately thoughtprovoking...

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by lifes betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of future pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let extasy fill you to the tops of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can breathe accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when its not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from ITS presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure; yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "YES!".

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much you make. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.It doesn't interest me to know where or what or with whom you have studied... I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder

Poems from a Bus

How could I help you
Why do you look
Casting me glances
Attention

Reading people
Like a book
These skills lost on me

the sky a tapestry
a sweep of the brush
reaching to heights
longing to touch

softness a feeling
removed from your view
I shy from the brightness
Intensity, true.

Yes we trek onward
Yes we fall flat
I’m waiting to slip
Looking up on my back

Grass kissing my neck
Life flowing in
trees grow around me
this moment lasting

generations.

Birth to the dirt
Conception to cremation
But the sky,
Still awe evoking
Slipping through the telephone lines

The picture ever broad
Swatches of green and blue

In a sea of grey
We reach to touch
What never reached back to us

Independent sky