Dirty Little Secrets

when horses ride
upon the tide
of surf-tormented shore

it’s said the brave
cross the Ninth Wave
to Camelot once more

when poppies breed
they’ll spill their seed
when breezes blow inshore

while ages pass
and soldiers clash
again in senseless war

the battlefield
must surely yield
to crimson blooms once more

what dreams may come
once here then gone
adrift upon the stream

of time and tide
what lived and died
this transitory theme

that comes and goes
but no one knows
the dreamer of the dream

people talk about Love
as though it were a commodity
like milk
to be bought and sold
by the quart or the liter
in a bottle or a jug,
they give and they withhold
as if it were a scarce resource,
never seeing with their hearts
that it is part of their soul,
limitless expression
of Higher Truth…
the heart feels, the spirit knows,
but the mind cannot fathom
an infinite capacity…
people look for Love
outside of themselves,
grasping and clinging
like starving people
handed a scrap,
but it is not there,
and then they know Suffering
but they don’t understand,
their expectations are flawed
seeking the Golden Fleece,
like a prize to be won,
refusing to consider
their perceptions are wrong,
but the soul knows
that something lies within,
yet they can’t see it
with their eyes
or hold it
in the palms of their hands,
can’t believe it,
things of the spirit…
“Who they are”
this is the fundamental challenge
most people confront
but few face it head-on…
how they live their lives,
even when they’ve done everything
they’ve been told:
achieved wealth
attended church regularly
obtained an education
consulted a guru or a shrink
joined a fitness club
surrounded themselves with things
or had children
drowned their sorrows in drink
or drugs or sexual escapades,
and yet they don’t understand
why they still feel empty,
why all their plans didn’t pan out
the way they expected…
Love
does not hoard
is not greedy or possessive
cannot be limited or confined
is enriched by giving herself away
without expectations of return…
the Way of Love
is not hidden,
ask your soul…
it knows the Way.

she
looks at your picture
late in the night
while you sleep
an ocean away
yet ever present
in her mind
like a looking glass
your beautiful eyes
light the shadows
of her unlit dreams
guiding her,
to herself…
to life…
to love…
to…
you

touch me
with your lips
a kiss
a moment
a smile
out of time
to feel
love’s silence
your heart
the moonlight
like wings
embracing
my soul

i confess, i have loved
without concern for
outward appearances
marital status
religious beliefs
economic position
national origin,
i’m certainly no virgin.
my lovers have been
men, women, older, younger,
imaginary and real,
for i believe that
if there is a god and
if there is sin, then
in all the kingdoms
that have ever been,
apathy is the greatest sin,
and love, the great redeemer.