Of all these words our sorrows plight,
The dark begins to fade the light..
When our madness reigns supreme,
And all our life it seems a dream..
Trust in faith, inside we dwell..
A light no shadows dark may dispel.
The fire's glow, grows faint again.
An empty feeling spilling in..
Only love can fill that hole.
It's up to us to keep control.
Why we wonder of this light?
Why the darkness tries to fight?
all the answers are within..
of the truth we've always been.
It's all with reason and something looms
It is our glory+ not our doom-
clothed in tatters thoughts sent scattered
grace where did you go?
one is the lonely one is the part
one is the plenty at one with the heart
how did we get here where do we go
theres so many questions i wish to know
many the answer and many do lie
the cost of life is all of us die
all too often not asking why
but theres an answer although it hides
so we seek an so we climb
to reach the answer deep down inside
they call it nirvana the practice of zen,
call it the knowing of now is still then
yet were moving forward, the cycle of more
the gleaming light beyond the door
looking for the key to when
all my problems are never again
i am different because i am the same
i am myself through all that iv changed
growth an learning remains the constant goal
still at times i lose the will to self control
letting go taking hold
hiding the pain so nobody knows
caring for others beyond my self
healing within for greater self wealth
seeing the light in darkness of night,
the moon a dry mirror in the sky
reflecting the light from the divine
knowing myself as you and i , i bless our hearts
together we are better and shall not depart
we mustnt fracture without each other our lives scatter
into a fractal of suffering pain
only together can we change
must refrain from letting go
always trusting though we never know
time is slow as its fast
nows today till its passed
like the cycle of a tree
our souls the roots our lives the leaves
to spring to life, buds that burst to bloom
always knowing, to die and fall is our doom
our thoughts looming, we cherish our seed
knowing that someday they will be more trees
just like these only better
with our blessings i know they will get there
We don't need your steeenking Halloween
We don't need you steeenking pumpkins
We don't need no steeenking hobgoblins
We especially don't need your, steenking Harvest Moon!
I think your comments are more often poetry.
Pay your respects to the vultures
For they are your future
Our fathers and mothers
Have failed to release us
Into the welcoming arms
Of the amethyst deceivers.
Happy 10-19-1974 !!!
Can someone please post the poem about the Dead at winterland.....it was over one of the pictures of the October '74 run at Winterland in the book, The Official Book of the Deadheads........
Its a great little poem........
If you've felt it, then you do not know love. If you've known it then you do not know love. If you've dreamt it then you do not know love. The state of my being is not love, it is not anything, for I am existing in a state of being, surrounded by these ideals. The animals know of love, for they surround each other, and protect their own. As humans, we are not capable of love, not until our dying days, when we are holding the hand of the person that we've spent our lives with, man or woman, can we understand what it is like to truly love someone. The sky holds the knowledge, the clouds hold the rain, the rain holds life, and with life comes love. You cannot teach or learn love. Relationships are prisons, one trapped within the other. Only when the birds are free to roam the sky's and sing their songs will they be happy, the feathers will fall to the earth where they will return, singing their love songs to each other to find a mate, to find the bird with the most attractive colors, the beautiful voice, the one with the alluring dance. I am a crow. I am black, I have seen death, I have seen life, my call is ruthless, yet I have no hope for love - I will return my feathers to the earth, when the earth will also be black, with my heart, and I will rejoice in the song of the winds, bringing me back home, to be reborn into a phoenix with an ember in my heart, a spark, a flame, in hopes to one day hear a song sung for me, until that day, I will fly through the ash with my black feathers, hoping to hear the words again ~ Love
My girlfriend does this thing where
she bites her own tongue, and hard
which results in her jaw
......................................dropping and jutting forward.
......................................This radical countenance shift
......................................is commonly accompanied by
......................................a sonic phenomena that mixes
......................................the onset of a grunt with
......................................the departure of a squeal.
......................................It's the happiest sound I know, so
I call the whole thing her monkey face.
A few days ago I did a bad thing.
We were talking about her monkey face
when I added an adjective—ugly—
which I promptly revised into distorted
but she's pretty quick about these things.
After she nailed me for the lingual slip
we laughed about it, which was good
since we had both been ready an hour
before to call an end to the relationship.
We had forgotten for a time how to listen.
Over the next several days I considered
the inquietude of modifiers and realized
I never got to finish: "when compared to
conventional notions of truth and beauty."
But these are culture bound contradictions;
I get to experience Aeden's love unchained.
Her feral ferocity incites my primate primal;
her monkey face the most beautiful I know.
a bulb of red nectar
reacts laser-like with the
thrumming green wings of
a hummingbird about to dine.
But is this moment manufactured?