Finding a long-lost inner child
Welcome back sweet child
I promise to treasure your fragility
and keep you safe,
so you can sing your songs of humility
learnt through strife,
and shine from an ever glowing essence:
Stay forever alive!
My feelings are soft and tender
keeping me warm and fuzzy inside
like a blanket for my soul
I could never feel better
then when this paper-boat of joy I ride,
resting my head on your shawl.
To give birth
To a new Earth...
is the ultimate act of creation
go beyond your every expectation
be the woman-creatrix
join hands to blow-off the matrix
rid the world of the patriarchy
that kept you tied down
reach up to every dream
you were told no in the little town.
It's a time of infinite possibilities
create to fly above the hostilities
of minds captive in low frequencies
set yourself free!
I pray for the healing of the wounded
whether they're soldiers or Kings,
for it is those in this way branded
that destroy the good that is.
There's no source of evil
like an unhealed pain
so your efforts to heal
will never be in vain.
Listen to your body,
for it keeps the score:
If you feel your heart get muddy
then you have to heal some more!
There's a fount inside
where many worlds collide
but on the surface I glide,
unearned shame to hide.
Words said, but eyes unmet,
hands wrung, my song unsung,
I yearn for the day
souls will find their way.
Like in Plato's Cave
they don't know what they crave
for none of them is brave
the light to keep safe
So with all my little might,
I work with the light
believing a just fight
may Granny's eyes shine bright!
Tapping into source
with no remorse
I find my force
I find my voice.
I look straight into the abysss
of everything that is,
"I want you to speak to me,
with the voice of eternity".
It peers straight into my eyes,
shedding the white lies,
I shed my skin of vice,
as the only sacrifice.
Now we are made one,
by virtue of the One,
left uncrossed no line,
now everything is fine.
It don't matter
It don't matter
that the writing on the wet sand
after the waves
their weeping trail
will have made.
All I care is that on the sand
the sygil of my soul
I wrote by hand.
Inscribed in the very own
fabric of space-time,
will be this very soul of mine.
In my cucoon I rest,
for it's by far the best
in which my genetic memory could invest.
From here I see,
a whole new play is played,
no words delayed.
Opted out of your virtual reality,
causing major frailty,
I rest in the real me... who doesn't feel guilty.
Nothing but authenticity,
there lies my honest "trick"
and if you accuse me of duplicity,
you're not seeing the whole pic.
I and you
can meet anew...
under new guises
this time the wisest,
but a voice says
"Don't rush God's ways"
This sick love for you
has grown in me like a malign cancer.
Spiritual chemotherapy is what I call what I do everyday to fight it.
I hope it will kill the fibers of you inside me
before it gets to me.
That will be the true and final test of who between us is stronger.
I am Narcissus,
and your eyes,
the body of water in which he sees his own reflection.
I loved more the image of me reflected through your eyes,
than I loved you.
You smelled that, and you went away.
What would Narcissus do if he was deprived of the lake that showed him his beloved reflection?