I Am That....and So Are You

"Oh how you've changed"

Why, you're so sweet 

To notice how 

I've turned, complete 

A three-sixty,

One-eighty, too,

And still more turning

Left to do 

I won't be still

I can't be claimed

By notions formed

When I was named 

I'm more than that - 

A title's just 

A word to hail

This living dust

No, I'm much more

Than just a word -

Come closer and

Be enraptured

By all the Beauty,

Joy, and Grace

That lies within

This sacred space 

For I Am That,

Divinity.

It shines forever 

Here in me.

Yes, I Am Sun;

And Sky, so blue;

And Earth, and Stars;

And so are you 

Ready, Set...

Read, set, and here I go

To face another day

With only my own hand to hold

To chase the clouds away

Won’t have another by my side

To keep my demons back

No, I won’t have a lover to

Fill me up when I lack

I’ll be alone inside myself,

My only company

But solitude gives me the chance

To get to know.. well, Me.

My own heart has been long ignored

By my own brain - too long!

I’ve gotten to know others, but

forsook my own sweet song

I cannot carry on like this,

Not knowing who I am

For far too long I’ve only glimpsed

And guessed at who I’ve been

But now I guess I get the chance

To take a long hard look

At the girl behind the glass-

The woman I forsook

So ready, set, and here I come;

I’m just around the bend

I’ll get to know my Self again

I’ll be my own best friend

Journy

Musings of a Poet

Sometimes I wonder what I’m gonna write

I have no idea most the time

Thus is the artist’s, the songwriter’s plight:

Will this be a story, or rhyme?

Will my words have meaning?

Will anyone read these syllables here on the page?

And, if the do, will they call me a fool?

Or perhaps will they think me a sage?

Do I even bother to finish this poem?

Perhaps I will stop; start again

And then, when I finish, when all is complete

Honestly, truly - what then?

Does my life go on as it has all these years?

Will something about it be new?

Will my days cease to matter - will they start again?

Tomorrow, will sky still be blue?

What is the point, I find myself ponder

With every strike of the key:

If nothing here changes, no mystery solved,

What then is the point? Can you tell me?

Sometimes I go over the words that I write

And fuss at each line’s counted time

“This one’s not perfect; no that one’s not right;

“Ugh, that one does not even rhyme!”

And even just now, as I make my own fun

At the words that I seem to think lack,

I can’t help myself, it just has to be done -

Already twice I’ve gone back

To fix and to fuss at the words that I’ve writ

Right here on this fantasy page

Perhaps it is true: I am really a fool…

But then, who decides who’s a sage?