Ther Vine Keeper

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Wednesday, March 30, 2011

what are they doing . . . here ?

what are they doing . . . here ?

the children are dancing
in bliss
with their ignorance of their day
and their hearts are Hop Scotching
in innocence
across the shadows on the pavement
taking turns
casting smiles back to the Sun
beaming as one
in accord with the joy
the moment
that has no design
or motive
but what they are doing
here ?

what are they doing her
in the gardens
of no expectations
playing in the loft
with their dreams
hearts singing
in 4/4
for where they are
is enough
what are they doing
here ?

have they come
to paint our prisons walls
with envy
as our pains of denial
collect in the our cups of anguish
and overflow ?

upon the ground
they seek to pool
puddle in abundance
to become the streams
and run into our Children’s future
to give them too
a reason to sustain
this false penance we pay
each day
that in the night
the beds of our guilt
with our soggy pillows
drenched with our Soul’s tears
may become deludedly comfortable
what are they doing . . .

their pristine inner beauty
is blinding
and like the sightless men we are
we trip across our understandings
and divinity
because we recognize it not
even our senses have been indoctrinated
to embrace this painful vibration
as an ultimate truth
as we move through eternity
pedaling with conviction
on Wisdom’s Tricycle
that has but 1 wheel
and no handlebars
what are they doing . . .
here ?

did they come with purpose
deliberately reminding us
of the sacrifice we make
as Pilgrims in this dense Hell ?

are they the Missionaries
who have come to torture us
with their innocence\
because we have forgotten
how to listen
to the sounds of creation
that sound of congruous love
that attunes all things to source ?
i secretly spit upon their potential
to become like me
what are they doing . . .

did not anyone tell them
of the dangers
the risk
of getting stuck
in this jungle’s quicksand
and that Tarzan is a Myth
that the only Vines one can swing from
requires you to hold on tightly
and they grow from the Tree of Life here in 3D
and it’s fruits are Despair and Hope
a concoction of confusion
for that which is Divine
that which is Holy
or used to be
can they not see
what are they doing . . .
here ?

i must warn them
not scorn them
and display the absence of my forlorn-ment
and let my adornment
be the memory of the light
i have long ago out in the closet
and closed the door
i must remove the barriers of my own first
and set an example
by allowing my quixotic child
out to play
this day
in the gardens
where the fragrant principles of bliss
skips and reflects
 across the absence of shadows
as the limbs on the Tree of Life
sway with the breeze
of Freedom
Smiles and Laughter
forever after
and i asked again
what are they doing . . .
here ?
and now i understand
in the absence of demand
they have come for me
and you
that we may be liberated
from the bondage
we acquiesce to
give our lives to
each day

what are they doing here ?

Love them
smile with them
play with them
embrace them
for they have come for you

© 30 March 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.

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