it was a place of refuge for those who broke tabu. you'd run for your life and you might live another day or two. maybe a priest would instruct you in the error of your ways. and if you learned your lesson, you might live out your days. my world is much different, places of refuge are few and hard to find.
open gate propped up, leans on a fencepost... evil fences and walls divide us; keep good people out, keep good people in, evil fences imprison. evil people try to rule the world. their lies amaze us. fences: a tool of enslavement. an open gate is a good thing, many gates stay shut, and keep good people in.
under a blistering tropical sun, suffocating heat drove us to find shade, we found a beautiful tree, and shade. that day we found the beach with no name, where only locals ever went. visitors could go elsewhere, to famous places. we went native, and benefitted from local kindnesses and friendship.
ten thousand feet above the sea a fallen tree can't rot away. its bones are bare and stark we see it lies a dead thing, as we gasp for thin and icy air we understand how the tree came to fall ten thousand feet above the sea
broken bamboo tops lie in a heap on top of fibrous roots, a wind-storm smashed that bamboo grove. we find the scene exotic and a little alien; this is not our world. years and miles pass by too quickly we will learn; a jungle cataract falls from a towering cliff, its source a mystery we'll never solve. this bamboo doesn't care; it grows again beside sweet lacey ferns, a warm wind blows. we came so far and see (that's how it goes). rain drops from sudden clouds above as we drink it in, the gods are making love.
roses: a claim certainly to a kind of love. dressed up to show someone some kind of sweet emotion wedding or funeral, this feeling is alike, a dozen roses means the same as one, but costs a lot more. friend or family resting in a box, or beautiful lady, cute as any fox. roses: a claim certainly to a kind of love. dressed up to show someone some kind of sweet emotion
a beach with no name, where the lava flowed down to the sea, a secret place, not on any map, but a friendly local told us we should go. such a quiet, private place in paradise! no other tourists, we listened to waves smashing on lava rocks the sound of seabirds and the south pacific! a beach with no name, where the lava flowed down to the sea, a secret place, not on any map
under the cedars BX creek washes a very tiny world. we step carefully, leaving no footprints, witness to our passing. like ants, we walk our pointless paths, insignificant in many ways, and like to think ourselves so important. but we are not. a lttle water washes rounded rocks, the cedars know. that water is essential. we need it too, cleansing and refreshing, some kindness to our souls.
Solitary Skeleton under all the conifers, i see a lonely skeleton, and understand part of what i see. i myself have a solitary aspect. my bones carry my flesh; my body carries me. a day will come, no doubt, when i too, am stripped to bone, like a mushroom, which i still don't understand in full detail. and though we all want company, my day will come: i will be solitary, and go meet the beautiful light.