Clouded Night

Stars Above the Clouds

Though I see them not I know they exist.

The stars covered with a blanket of clouds.

 

One life, the span which lasts a night.

My angels, my God hidden from sight.

 

Tis only one night.

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Another night

The Angel sits silent in the corner.

Waiting for the breath to slow.

Watching for the eyes to glide, 

Back and forth smoothly beneath the surface.

 

Waiting and Watching for the moment.

The seconds which pass into minutes,

The minutes which fade into seconds.

Time is unseen by Angels.

 

The Angel steps slowly from the shadows.

“Ready for another journey?” He smiles at his friend.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She smiles her knowing smile.

 

Another journey unfolds

Another adventure foretold.

Another voyage for the soul.

For its just another night

Distant Love Within

How did you find me here?
I was alone in my mind
How far did you look?
Was there distance in this time?

It is so hard to send you away

I have hid from you
I have known you as the one
I know it is meant to be
I live in time,
Yet I am not free

Perhaps one day we will find the words we must say

My heart breaks for you
My soul aches for you
I have bled rain for you
I have swallowed pain for you

You must see, this is the way it shall be

You must leave this place
For the time here is wrong
You must forget my face
It won’t be long, you must be strong

You must leave… until we meet, I shall silently grieve

It seems unkind
The roads of Life unwind, intertwine
With each dream we seek blindly
The morning dawns and rains tears

The sun rises… puts to ease our dreaming fears…

Then passes years, silently waiting in shadow… listening to the minds reason

listening and waiting

Our time is not now

One life it will be

Together if ever

Will it be?
Will it be? 

Our time is not now
One life it will be
Together if ever
Will it be?
Will it be

Ready to leave this place? 

Ready to remember my face?

I am…

Uriel

It fell in the ancient periods 
  Which the brooding soul surveys, 
Or ever the wild Time coin’d itself 
  Into calendar months and days.

This was the lapse of Uriel, 
Which in Paradise befell. 
Once, among the Pleiads walking, 
Sayd overheard the young gods talking; 
And the treason, too long pent, 
To his ears was evident. 
The young deities discuss’d 
Laws of form, and metre just, 
Orb, quintessence, and sunbeams, 
What subsisteth, and what seems. 
One, with low tones that decide, 
And doubt and reverend use defied, 
With a look that solved the sphere, 
And stirr’d the devils everywhere, 
Gave his sentiment divine 
Against the being of a line.
“Line in nature is not found; 
Unit and universe are round; In vain produced, all rays return; 
Evil will bless, and ice will burn.” 
As Uriel spoke with piercing eye, 

A shudder ran around the sky; 

The stern old war-gods shook their heads; 
The seraphs frown’d from myrtle-beds; 
Seem’d to the holy festival 
The rash word boded ill to all; 
The balance-beam of Fate was bent; 
The bounds of good and ill were rent; 
Strong Hades could not keep his own, 
But all slid to confusion.

A sad self-knowledge withering fell 
On the beauty of Uriel; 
In heaven once eminent, the god 
Withdrew that hour into his cloud; 
Whether 
doom’d to long gyration
In the sea of generation

Or by knowledge grown too bright 
To hit the nerve of feebler sight. 
Straightway a forgetting wind 
Stole over the celestial kind, 
And their lips the secret kept, 
If in ashes the fire-seed slept. 
But, now and then, truth-speaking things 
Shamed the angels’ veiling wings; 
And, shrilling from the solar course, 
Or from fruit of chemic force, 
Procession of a soul in matter,
Or the speeding change of water, 
Or out of the good of evil born, 
Came Uriel’s voice of cherub scorn, 
And a blush tinged the upper sky, 
And the gods shook, they knew not why. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson

1846


A poem for my friend…

my angelarchangel_uriel

Kiss of the Muse

kissOfTheMuse  Painting by Paul Cezanne

Plato’s “Phaedrus” Socrates explains the power of the Muses:

« Come, O ye Muses, melodious, as ye are called, whether you have received this name from the character of your strains, or because the Melians are a musical race, help, O help me in the tale which my good friend here desires me to rehearse, in order that his friend whom he always deemed wise may seem to him to be wiser than ever. »

Further on in “Phaedrus”, Socrates describes how the Muses give “an inspired madness which was a noble thing”:

« The third kind is the madness of those who are possessed by the Muses; which taking hold of a delicate and virgin soul, and there inspiring frenzy, awakens lyrical and all other numbers; with these adorning the myriad actions of ancient heroes for the instruction of posterity. »

Socrates goes on to say that the man « who, having no touch of the Muses’ madness in his soul, comes to the door and thinks that he will get into the temple by the help of art–he, I say, and his poetry are not admitted; the sane man disappears and is nowhere when he enters into rivalry with the madman. »

 

 

 

 

 

A letter to my angel

Sad Angel

Dearest angel, why are you sad? Does it pain you as it pains me… how does the hole which throbs beat with nothing to fill its atriums. How does the case which houses the soul have shadows in corners with no walls for the shadow cast? How can it be that we pass through each other and feel, yet not see the beauty of thy reflection? How?

Dearest Soul, the other part of my being… do not feel as I do this moment. Do not yearn and question that which is not meant to be heard… For to know and not remember is more painful than the void which lay in its place… did you choose this, my soul… did you live this, my angel? did you place us here next to this eternity… did you plan this journey for us to be together and not speak… not touch… What say you to my call. What say you to my query… 

I can feel this moment clearly… when you think and make me hear. I can feel this moment when I wake from my slumber, the trance which makes me know… I can feel this moment as the others I have felt… and yet with this moment is another end… another beginning… another cycle. 

My angel, my soul… one as we may be… as it was intended to be… be with me. Please.

With Love and Light…

Intelligence?

To question life…search for answers…is this what it means to be intelligent life?
Do we assign the term intelligent to what we have here? If someone were to come and tell you the truth, that what you see is not real, would you believe them? Would you need to see the truth in order to believe?

This is faith. One day long ago there was a time when people only had faith and that was enough. One day long ago people had each other and that was enough. What happened to that day, that time? What happened to society that would lead for the need to question and not believe in the possibilities. Personally ( as you may have known), I am all about the questions…the ones that need no answers. The questions that resinate in the Soul.

Deep down we need no truths…they are deep within…that is why the “unknown” does not paralyze us with fear. Think about what is out there and add in the certainty. 

Reassured?

There are some who live with this certainty… must be freedom.