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Submission is a continuum that we might walk down hand in hand,
until we have bared the final root, uncovering this completeness you seek.
I shall grip your body, but it is from your mind my hand might grasp such
willingness as you thought you could never serve up to mortal Soul.
My words are but a Masters clever jackals if they bring you back to me.
Lay soft in their mouth that they might lay you at my feet oh submissive one. |
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Penitence. . .
willingness gone,
renewal due,
another stoke of forgiveness,
found upon your clever palette of self will |
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Love ?. . . is a state in which the mind is in communication with everything that is real. To whatever extent you permit this state to be curtailed you are limiting your sense of your own reality. . ." ACIM |
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oh but the Master’s rage lay upon the field, walking rings ‘round the dining room table, waving a black leather crop and yelling at the fruit bowl. . . |
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I looked back, your face had changed, gone was the bright green of summer, hence orange, yellow, the edges that were no longer straight and confident, the wind shook you. . .and I knew I should soon find the barren limbs where a summers love had once grown. . . |
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Its cold now as I rouse my pre dawn slumber, visible breath escapes me and like the clouds colors with the rays of sun that reach around the earth looking for me. . . |
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and so now God labored, she could put but half the moon in the air, fat, orange, lazy. . .and the farmer had, had to raze the corn field so I might see it. . . . |
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The full moon helps. . .it make you crazier, and I feel less of the burden of your uneasiness. . . |
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taking the long lenghts of chain from the dishwasher, I think of how proud the Maytag Man would be of me. . . . . |
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Post it notes?,
no dear, they are targets. . .
oh. . . . . |
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the sun falls on the horizon shattering into a million pin holes to eternity that dot that the coal black sky. Tomorrow I will meet you. . . . |
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. . .to rise unto the morning instead of having the morning rise up to you. . .the night creature as switch. . . . |
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the lines, but between, the notes, but then the spaces, there are other places, their girth measured in time. Today as not even the sky can make up its? mind, I am wondering why the task should have fallen to me. . . |
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