Buds of truth

We sometimes find ourselves
lost in a conundrum of dreams

We wander
we ponder, we peruse
and then we wonder why
and how and when, etc, etc
till our minds are so full
of bullshit we begin sprouting
young saplings of thought
all kinds of new ideas and ideologies
pychologies and philosophies
poems, songs, words and dreams.

Some kind of
implosion/explosion occurs
where we become trapped
in the void of unknowing
where the needle is stuck
and the world around us lets us go
and on and on we go
believing that if we reach
we can touch the sky.

Our feet are rooted in bullshit
our hearts, skin, blood and bone
get their nourishment from that gloop
our minds
strive to make sense of the loss
and here, our souls
they are the buds of truth
waiting for us to stop
and to believe
that the only way to reach the sky
is to know we are the sky.

Oh virgin time

Maybe it’s true
that there are such blessings
when once there appeared none

This shadow
this hanging thread of time
this beguile
relinquished its vanity
to reveal its truth
that there are such blessings
such fantastic landscapes
built upon snow
where moments are yet to be discovered
where time is fresh
from its labours
and where
where shadows recede
to reveal the beginnings of uncertainty

Oh virgin time
melt away
melt away
to reveal the spring.