Sunday, July 24, 2011
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.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
To be alive today
while the whole world is crumbling
makes one start to wonder . . .
how much time is left?
I know I'm not alone
in thinking this
and the possibility . . .
that some of us might even survive.
Still, I contemplate the end
and how it might come
while we're mowing lawns
and cooking dinner.
I'm here, just being myself and breathing
kind of like the children, that morning,
playing on the sunny shore, when just . . . like . . . that
the monstrous Tsunami reared and took their lives away.
It would be foolishness
to watch for signs of doom
and wasting precious time . . .
when you and I both know the end will come, no matter
just . . . like . . . that!
Joanne Cucinello © 2011
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