Sand Castles
"Castles made of sand...
Slip into the sea...
Eventually." — Jimi Hendrix, Axis, Bold as Love
My reputation is built on granite
Solidly planted
One with the planet
Never recanted
Its spires reach to heaven
Its turrets defend my realm
Defying repossession
And refuse the overwhelm
Yet aspirations are wicked
And circulate through pipes
And rise and fall, as liquid
To rot, below, the hype
Granite is not forever
And castles suffer disorder
When acceptance of whatever
Is used for brick and mortar
No castle is perfect
Even one built on stone
We allow the cracks that reflect
To show what we've become
Unconsecrated
Love's visage is a most sacred and sagacious sound
Inspired by false credence in the tender night,
Unconsecrated devotions rise all around,
Enveloping faith surmounts then flails midst starlight
Pious, nonsacred streams of moonlight beams
Caress sweetly unsuspecting sanguine dreams
Woven with a guise of sanctimonious means.
Love Divine
Love is all around;
permeates our atmosphere
without disturbing
the currents.
Like a holy spirit,
An element of the Dao,
Or the winds of Karma
Love is all around.
How we choose
To interact with Kindess
Is the ultimate
Ponderance.
From Dogen to Rumi,
Our answers fall short.
Yet there is beauty in
How we choose.
Maybe one day,
The gods will
Speak directly to
Our brothers and sisters.
Love will find us,
Choose us,
And tell us:
"Maybe one day."
Let today be that day.
Because love is all around us
And we have a choice
In divine interaction
loss of a fungus
Is the black Soul leaving the skull a sign of death
Is it rebirth or is it what Fate Wished to beheld
the Bug the creature
the Mask of Life
a Nail right through the chest
Penetrate the chitin, see through their Dreams
the Russula cradles the Honey
two Fungi and Bugs Die in each others arms
Why me, Why you all along
when the parasite only Wished to help
why does the Knight take the life
of the savior of the Land
the Trees Weep but the Hollow Husks know not of the tragedy
the Moss cradles the the Shell
the Broken Mask along a Green Path
and Orange eyes watch from the Wasps
as the last of the soul leaks from the hole
and enters the Abyss
searching
as the Infection never ceases to spread
neither shall the doctor of Death quit his Search
for a Cure or a Fix or an Eradication of all that keep it bred
it is all for the good of Life
if they live they can spread and they can die
it is not an obsession it is a Cure it is a help for the Bugs
without Him . who would even try
The honey fungus has such a nice name,
sweet like Honey but Sickly to the trees it infects
they All die
But it wants to Live, how else can it Get what it needs for existence
this Infection is not like a parasite to a tree
it is a parasite to the earth and to the life around it
without the Russula . who would save the poor bugs
from the fate that beheld them
No
there are No lives to save or to Fix
they are all gone and all dead
but the Search for a Cure cannot be stopped
because without him,
None could Live
it is not an Obsession it is a Fix that all the souls would beg for
the souls trapped behind Orange
an Infection
and obsession for a Fix
a Cure
an insatiable need to fix what CanNot be changed
what has existed for centuries
what one Bug what the doctor who now is one of Death cannot change
an Insatiable Search for Knowledge
for a fix not One unalive soul had asked
for insatiability blocks out Life
for the Search only hurts worse than the Infection ever had