I am not your possession​

I am not your possession.

You cannot own me.

I am not a book, a company, an idea, or even money.

I am not yours to have.

 

Look away with that eye of greed.

Glance it elsewhere

at someone or something

that glances back.

You cannot look me in the eye.

 

Let me be

in my innocence of desire.

You seek

to poison and impoverish me.

 

I am not your possession.

You cannot own me.

I am not a car, a boat, a place, or even a house.

I am not yours to have.

 

There, over there.

The one that dares

to look me in the eye.

To peer deep

and sees

my secret beauty

hidden deep beneath.

 

Let me be

with truth, courage, and expectation.

To see me in true light.

Who seeks

to know my nature, destiny,

and my inborn divinity.

 

Full of invitation, possibility, and depth.

 

But, not you.  No, not you.

 

I am not your possession.

 

 

I hunger deeply for less

I hunger deeply for less.

To feel what space feels like

and nothing else.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To clear away

what is banal and exterior.

 

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To want for nothing

for all I have is welled up.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To be nothing in a world that

desperately seeks to be

everything.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To be in solitude in a world

centered on

greed and corruption,

lies and deceit.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To strip away all that does not

matter even though

consumerism says that it does.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To lay my soul down

naked to be illuminated

by the natural light of life.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To lie silently with myself

and to know all that I need to know

lies deep hidden inside

waiting to be excavated.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To love others and to be loved

in a world that lacks

empathy and compassion.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

To become a mystic in

the modern world.

 

I hunger deeply for less.

A Nomadic Soul.

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

You see one facade.

The one for the world to consume.

To laugh, and joke, and cajole.

 

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

What is visible is not what lies deeply hidden.

Conformity in a world that demands uniformity.

To think, and to feel, and to be the same.

 

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

What is visible remains consistent.

It is only what you want to see.

To be the same at work, the same at home, the same with friends.

 

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

Longing for inner voyages that no one would ever guess.

Only my heart knows where it must go.

To meet its longing, to feel its beat, to be different.

 

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

Desperately seeking to answer an ancient call.

Full of creativity and imagination.

To dream, to bless, to be called.

 

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

Reaching out into the distance my soul aches

to unite with whatever or whomsoever

its desire it evokes.

Deep inside lies a nomadic soul.

Distant and apart from who I am outwardly

feeling the separation from the absence

of light and luminosity missing.

 

 

While I live in this world

of social this and social that,

my heart is in exile.

Wildly misunderstood

in a world that seeks not to understand.

 

Deep down …

lies an old nomadic soul.

 

 

My liberator, my savior, my redemption. 

Anger.

I hiss, I sputter, I spew.

 

Far too long I put up with it.

Just because, I wanted to avoid it.

 

“STOP!”

“NOW!”

 

I scream.

I can’t take it anymore.

 

Your lies, your deceit,

your blaming, your betrayal.

You psychoanalytical drama.

 

“STOP!”

“NOW!”

 

Anger.

I hiss, I pop, I screech.

 

My righteous anger rebels

against my own voice.

 

I can’t put me last

and you always first.

 

Don’t you see what you have done?

 

“STOP!”

“NOW!”

 

Perhaps, I am victim of a fire started

a long time ago?

 

Perhaps, I am too nice or eager to please

someone who gives two shits about me?

 

My fury simmers to a boil underneath

my nice exterior

until there is one moment

that I become more important

than you.

 

I unleash it.

 

Anger.

I scream, I wail, I cry.

 

Don’t you hear me?

 

I didn’t need to court your approval in the first place

why did I even try to?

 

A searing flame crackles deep within.

 

Anger.

I hiss, I bellow, I belch.

 

“STOP!”

“NOW!”

 

Now I have the power.

Now I am liberated.

Now I no longer comply.

 

You are not worthy of me.

I value life.

 

I claim my presence

here and now.

 

“STOP!”

“NOW!”

 

Anger.

My liberator, my savior, my redemption.

 

 

 

 

Great uncertainty

Now is the time

of

great uncertainty.

 

What I once knew to be true

I know not of anymore.

 

Dishelvement and confusion

weight me down

with gravity.

 

My heart is heavy.

My physical body tired.

I am spent.

 

Now is the time

of

great uncertainty.

 

But, yet you stand there

on the margins of

unknowing.

 

You encourage and guide

with your all your experienced

wisdom.

 

You know not of me,

but yet you walk in my

very shoes.

You understand me.

 

There is no judgment

just release.

 

Now is the time

of

great uncertainty.

 

I feel your whole

presence enfolding

and helping me

find that stairway up.

 

I crawl then climb

up, up, up

the staircase

towards the door ajar

where the dim light

leads me forward

out of the darkness that surrounds me.

 

Now is the time

of

great uncertainty.

The poem and the poet

I reach deep into your core

Reminding you of things past,

Long forgotten

Or even

Buried

I reverberate

What once was

What once lived deep within

And all of those left behind

Whether intentional or not.

I reach out to those

Long past places of your experiences

Finding those lost regions

Of silent and invisible feelings.

I travel far into your depths

Reaching almost to your core

To bring forward

Your neglected and distant

Longing.

I am the poem.

Written by the poet.

Who knows and understands

The deep and distant

geography of your soul.

Fragility and pathos

Darkness rolls down from the slopes,

Slowly seeping into the valleys

Robbing the day

Away from its stronghold.

As the night ebbs in

It seeps into corners and crevices

Taking away identity of all that is known.

The light retreats as if after a battle

Losing its strength to the mighty

Darkness that marches towards it

Willingly throwing down its arms

In defeat.

Vulnerability sweeps the land,

Strange sounds not heard during day

Begin to emanate in the darkness.

Wild animals hidden from the light

Emerge into its deep, lush cover.

The mountains lay hidden in black

With all of their giant stature gone

Their power and might lost in submission

To the blackness that holds them

Captive in its mystery.

Fragility and pathos

Encircle the light as darkness

Overtakes it.

A struggle of presence over anonymity

Lies in the darkness that seeps

Down through the mighty slopes

Of infinite stature.

This poem was inspired by this evenings sunset as I️ contemplated the darkness edging into the light in Franconia, NH. Where I️ stay is only a stone’s throw away from Robert Frosts homestead. I️ have been coming to this inn for close to fifteen years, sometimes by myself, sometimes not. I️ first came when I️ was still married to Dennis. Sometimes multiple times of year. I️ have become like family here and I️ was saddened to hear of the innkeeper’s husband diagnosis of cancer. I️ felt that pain as the darkness overtook me.