The owl believes that the night is king but morning birds lay in wait. Before the dawn breaks, the dark must conquer and bury us. Crickets chant as those who thrive under the cover of the shadows make a killing.
Listen to the wind moon child
The key to understanding where you came from lies
In the realm of your being
And every answer lives within you.
Daylight will bathe the sky in a soft yellow glow and your senses have to reawaken. Your old bones will either be excited or exhausted over the idea but the day must adhere to the rules of the sun and so must you.
The old scriptures speak
Of the impermanence of the minute
Change is inevitable
As the hour bleeds into the next.
The gears of the matrix sweep every man under the rug and the rat race still holds the first place in a society rigged with mirrors yet the majority of the population is blind to their reflections. They refuse to see.
Everything is connected
Like the shore stitching the sea and the sand
Like your feet and the vast land
Like life and death.
The trail back home vanished as most forgotten warriors fought against themselves to meet the demands of an ailing world. Its boxed cruelty folded them within its stained truth and enslaved their light with its talons.
Between the heavens and the grave
The undiscovered potion for the endless pain
Sits in silence as the poison spreads
Past the threshold of love.
There is something in finding the balance between the crying angels and the rejoicing ancestors. It fills our days with the understanding that progress is only guaranteed by unlearning what we thought of ourselves and learning from our higher selves.
Cry with the pouring rain
Let its echo feed on your pain
Fall in love with your ghosts
As you dance like a dandelion in the wind.
...poetry is finding my scribe again and I can't find the words to express my joy. I wait on words to heal and I have been pushing myself back here. I am grateful that my soul's language is creeping back home.
wambuku w.