Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Coming


There is a place within each heart
where Spirit dwells
swaddled in a gold cocoon.
Awaiting your arrival
it trembles with expectation, listening
for the sound of the turning key.
To find this place may take a lifetime,
for the road is rough and strewn
with shadows, rocks and crumbling statues,
the old and useless gods that have no voice.
Yet, it is the journey you were born for
the journey to the still small
center of your being.

One day your eyes will see
all that was hidden in twilight
and your ears will hear the words of life.
All things will soften into knowing.
Time and seasons and half-known
reasons will blossom with purpose
and the promise
that bliss will surely find you.

The Coming . . . when dawn reveals
the memories we've locked away for years,
and touches them with kindness and forgiveness.
The Coming . . . it will lure you on
to hear the precious sound of your own name.
Say it, whisper it and place it in your heart.
It sounds so simple, but it's so profound
to say your given name with love,
to truly love yourself and turn the key.

Joanne Cucinello 2009

Monday, April 5, 2010

The City of Angels

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In the City of Angels
there are no homes
nor clocks
to tell of time.
In the City of Angels
no one speaks
in words familiar.

There is a lake
in its center
filled with tears
from the hearts
of those who lost
their young.

This lake of tears
overflows at times
when many
suffer loss together
then tears
pour forth
to feed the trees
with crystals

Images of life on earth
hang draping
homage on the trees
some like flowers
some like vines
and even some
like thorns.

There are three moons
floating always
in a mist of
faintest melody
catching echoes
from the earth
and songs ~
of mothers.

The Beings
winged and fair
who light upon the
bring the souls
of little ones
and hold them close
their wings
until the tears subside
and broken hearts
can let them go.

For only then
will heaven part
as angels guide them
through the light
to all who went before
awaiting them
with open arms
and tears no more.

Joanne Cucinello 2007

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