PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

This morning is drenched in
something new,

the first light floats
to the surface like
a new idea,

a little closer to Truth

and the all-seeing
ceiling of our
world.

I don't wish to write about it
just be in it,
live its easy life
where beauty is in being

and you are granted
splendor just for
being present.

No mad quest for wings
when the earth flies
beneath you,

and when love runs off
with all your best thoughts,
there is always something
better.

There's a special cloud
in the corner,
something like a volatile lily
that detonates softly,
shatters slowly.

Soon the tangled net of
branches cage a bluescape;

there's a pool of ink where
the lily once bloomed.

It's all an eternal changing,
a slow-moving still-frame.

And just what if the afterlife
has come to me,
not packaged in death's
spikes and chains,
but glowing like a
sea creature we discover
with eyes wide and
souls awakened?

How beautiful is Time,
kidnapped, distilled and
encased in a tiny glass
Now.

There is no end to the
well-trained Now.

Weightless with joy,
the meringue soul of morning
won't let me leave
my understanding;

I am nothing and I am the center.

Leaves, the color of June, blink
in and out of shadows,
in and out of gold-plated reveries:

their own fickle afterlife.

Like living prayers, they heal me
and perhaps I heal them
because, like Time,
we are endless and
everywhere and All
That Is.

Patricia Joan Jones