out of that door

out of that door

i sat in the room

of my personalized containment

a place of my own design

i had decorated the walls

with all the things

i have accumulated

over the span

of my journey here

the scene was the same

every day

every night

every moment

even when i closed my eyes

i was the rote-filled bored one

for i had already

worked my way

through all the Crayolas

and all the combinations thereof

i needed change

i needed a new Coloring Book

i needed courage

to dare

so i simply rose up

walked to the door

unlocked it

opened it

and walked out

i walked across

the pretty vicarious lawn

through the visceral Flower Beds

heading due west

through the meadow

attempting to catch the Sun

before it set

i was seeking an uninhibited expression

of who i may become

this day

this moment

here

each footstep

created a new way

a new path

but i cared not who would dare to follow

nor did i wish to return

for the memories

ancient and recent

of this and all carnations

i knew far too well

i wanted to climb out of my skin

and this shell

this box

i have built to hold and house

all that i have come to accept

as my destiny

my summation

my self

my life

my lives

as i said . . .  i was bored

as i considered my way

a new consciousness of wonder

began to come about

a dawning

and i became filled

with a penchant

to discover new sounds

new sights

new possibilities

never before considered

in my finite aspects nor perspectives of life

this all seemed so eerily familiar though

my “due West” migrated

slightly to the South

and then to the North

there were no rules

and i had no particular objectives

nor agendas

save but to learn this new dance

this dance of life

i was now engaging in

fully

as i continued forward

i found and stood witness

to explorable new horizons

which ever way i looked

or focused upon

and in my stillness

there was movement

as i became somewhat anxious

for the room i left behind

was fading

like shadows at High Noon

and i felt it all through me

the release

i was seeing my life

differently

than i have ever have before

i saw that it did not belong to me

but i belonged to it . . . LIFE

in the final striking of what once was

that resonant chord

a new indescribable music began to play

for in my submission

i found my liberation

all because

i dared the unknown

and i walked out of that door

© 22 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

Pieces

Pieces

pieces of perfection

were dancing around

in my head

disguised as ideas

visions and dreams

begging me

to “Pen” them

that they may become

“Reality”

and dance with the Spirits

of those who would dare

consider the exponential-ness

that exists

in the world of possibilities

so i write

© 20 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

for Hadessa’

for Hadessa’

it was an early silence

that morning

one so beautiful

like i have never heard before

i could actually hear my self think

there was no screaming

no gunfire

no soldiers in the village

nor any other persons

whose souls expressed

any arbitrariness

i was not aware of my hunger

and the usual gnawing feeling

i always remember having

within

no it was not fear

i no longer worried about fear

i was too busy seeking reasons to smile

i guess that was my Soul’s gift from God

the anesthetic

that numbed me

from the conditions of my life

the life of my Family

and the people who used to live

all around me

most of them had since

gone away or died

today, this morning

there was just silence

here i am standing

in the middle of the roadway

in front of where my home use to be

i remember my little brothers

they taught me a lot of things

with their innocent eyes of wonder

of life

before they were taken away

by the loud noise and fire

that exploded behind our home

i guess my Mother

did not need here left arm anymore

for there was no one to hold

her tears had long ago stopped

there was just this emptiness

like her soul had went away

along with Daddy

that day

yes we had sunshine

and there were flowers

growing in the fields

they reminded me

of the pictures i have seen

in magazines

about how you live

world

you have color in your life

i was hoping to see this world

some day

perhaps next life time

for now there is silence

and i watch

the war of man continue

never knowing why

i and my people

were so hated by you

who have guns

© 18 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

a Poem spoke to me

there are but two tears

that have ever graced the cheeks

of all Humanity

Joy and Anguish

and they come from the same well

travel the same path

and end in the same place

memory

there is a space

that is silent

between the sounds

of the incessant rain drops

and i tried to listen

and a Poem spoke to me

there was no escaping the “Voice”

within my Soul

that longed for understanding

that i, my empirical self

may make finite sense of it all

but the “All-ness” eluded me

but a Poem had mercy

and spoke to me

is there a silence absent of noise ?

i sought it

i fought like Jacob

to wrestle with the Divine

for it seemed

like it vacated my mind

as i listened

but a Poem came to me

and tickled my spirit

and i did hear it

and i still do

have you heard the sound of the Petals in Spring

as they spread their wings

and let loose a fragrance

of Joy

of Life

of expectation

as they patiently await

to be fed

your admiration

your consciousness

that they do this for you ?

have you heard the rushing waters

as they journey to the Sea

carrying along

those same Raindrops and Tears

that housed your worries

your fears

your Joys

your Pains

and the many reflections of life

they held

along the way ?

have you heard the sound of the Sun awakening

just for you this day

and trekking from the East

to greet you with possibilities

of what your day may bring ?

when was the last time

you listened

to your Heart Beat

your Breath ?

Have you heard the sound of Chi

being fed to you

in your wanderings

and wonderings

about how it is you live ?

a Poem came to me

and i heard it’s footsteps in my Soul

and when it arrived at the Gate

where my Garden is

i let it in

that it may plant good seeds

in the Soils of my dreams

and we together

the Poem and i

can bring forth

a sweet fruit

i heard a poem

in the silence

yes

a Poem Spoke to Me

© 23 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

Miracles in the Cupboard

Miracles in the Cupboard

there are Miracles in the Cupboard

“Be mindful and use them well”

was the Sign on the Door

they were a collection of Class 3 Souls

fresh off the Ship

from the Land of Catatonia

they step into the world of One Tongue

Babylonia

they were there to hopefully learn

how to build Towers

that they may ascend

and move through

this Class B Station

on to Class A

and graduate

many will not make it

and be cast to the end

of the line

to start all over again

for they have forgotten

all previous lessons

oh the waste of all those incarnations

but what is time

what does it mean

when you have a eternity

to work with

some could not endure the illusions

and they learned to pray

to figments of their own imaginings

never realizing

the connect was always with them

that God Particle

that Divine Sparkle

no, they needed Miracles

for they did not understand

the Miracle of Man

some could read the signs along the way

they became adept hunters

as they diligently sought their prey

. . . understanding

most just acquiesced

to what they were given

because it was the easier route

to follow the lead

and the path

that others had established

never realizing that we each

are endowed with our own path

regardless of what we have been told

so they sold their souls out

and blamed their miseries on all other things

but blaming and naming

never did reconcile a thing

and unlike the Caged bird

they had lost their abilities

to sing

sing because your happy

sing because you are free

all you have to do

is open your “Eye” and See

our delusions quickly become our realities

especially if we utilize

that prized Acme Brand of Faith

sold on every Street Corner

it is cheaper than paying the Full Cost

isn’t it ?

but most do fail to ever get to that weigh Station

at Sector A

for they spent far to mush time

looking through that Cupboard

where empty Cans

offered no lasting resolution

nor “Soul-Lutions”

for the Miracle found

in just “Be-ing”

but i must say this

if you are looking for Bliss

There are Miracles in the Cupboard.

© 24 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

Miracles in the Cupboard

and we managed

and we managed

Steel Magnolias

Aluminum Tulips

and Bronze Roses

adorned the Botanical

Metaphorical Gardens

constructed for the Children

of the “Machine”

the iridescent light

of painted Sunshiny Icons

hung in the skies

and graced all their dawns

of expectations

for “New Days”

that never quite came about

but they dreamed anyway

yes they dared to dream

of Pink Chiffon

Angel’s Food Cake

Ambrosia

and Potato Salad

with Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches

on the side

with a couple of chilled Yahoos

to wash the unpalatable meal down

and we managed

© 24 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

and i want her too

and i want her too

she came to me naked

save for her wantonness

and i was stunned

for i have never looked

upon such a natural beauty

her skin glistened

with a wonder that stirred me

deeply

in places i have so long forgotten

and i became aflame

with a passion

that was consuming me

and destined

to do the same to her

her soul

we were coming together

first in our thoughts

then our desires of our hearts

and i knew

as certain as the Law of Life provides

that we, her and i

will be coinciding

in love

as one

for it is already done

it is a Love . . . . Supreme

the manifestations

of the Dream

i have always had

within my Core

the Love i always wished for

and now

as she walked through the door

i realized

quite clearly

that the Universe dearly

cares about

what it is i vie for

have cried for

and this day

i will die for

as i put aside

all my doubts

for she is here

naked before me

save for her wantonness

and i want her too

© 11 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

to the Light

to the Light

we strip off our clothing

and streak through this world

naked

exposing our nakedness

hoping you sneak a glimpse

of our consciousness

which possibly moves you

to places, dimensions and realms

never before considered

we play with words and language

verbs and adjectives, nouns and perspectives

electively intonating,

resonating and exacerbating

concocting new streams

that flow perhaps in to

yet undiscovered dark caverns

that know not of

the myriad essence of light

but that is only an illusion

for we discover ancient footprints

upon the ground

upon the walls

upon the ceilings

where some presence

has left it’s mark

in our distant memories

there are evidences

that either spirit or man

has visited here before

why did they depart ?

the consciousness is definitively prevalent

but can we see ?

were they too enamored

by the world without . . .

or had they found a better abode

that was more surreally nourishing

to the lives they sought

or thought they wanted ?

are they now extinct

as are we becoming ?

and as Death draws e’en closer to our ‘Life’

what are we willing to let go

that we may transform ?

have you heard the Snow and Ice melting today

upon the Mountains of your logics

which reside in some distant land ?

will you too join us in the flow

from delusion

to the New Frontier

where

no baggage is needed

required

nor allowed

for we must be clear

as the Crystal Chalice

that we may not only hold the light

but that others may do as well

that their own path may be discovered

we each have a painting to finish here

before we van graduate with honors

from this Creative Art class

what did you create today

what thoughts are you embracing in your “NOW”

what new perspectives are you embracing

as your Truth

if any at all

hold to the rails of your Titanic

and surely you will be saved

well, i will see you on the flip side of Sunshine

should you find your way

i will leave a Theory of String for you

that we may realize our connection

in reflection

of the circum- intro - spections

we once had

before we judged the things

to have a certain verity

as we look without . . .  look within

the Universe is expanding

the more we are able

to conquer the Fable

that our world is Flat

we come to understand the Cyclic nature

of things

yes . .  we have practiced this same lesson before

by way of the Spirit of our Ancestors

and our own “Be”ing –ness

for THE DNA-tic Code speaks

in resonant tones

and the balance endures

there are hearers and . . .

those that have come to speak

but far to many lights are

further de-voiding the void

that is begging to be filled

so clean out your closet

if you will

and hold to nothing

for from nothingness

comes all things

as it has always done

so . . . we strip off our garments

and stand before the Holy

in our full regality

letting loose our illusory frailty

and streak through this world

to the Light

© 10 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

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we at times . . .

we at times . . .

we at times

try to hold on

to things we know

we must let go

we at times

wish to sit back

and remember

reflect retrospectively

when we are aware

that the new growing season

is about us . . .

but we knew this

we know this

that again

it is that time

when we again

kiss our “Aspirations”

upon her lips

she sits patiently

waiting for our efforts

to mobilize

that we may realize

that the Sun has risen

and it is time for work

we at times

choose to lament

bathing ourselves

in the reflections

of missed opportunities

where our impunity

has no basis

as we turn our face away

from the way we may travel

or walk

this moment, this day, this life time

the cement is hardening

and soon we will not

be able to move

and the grooves of redundancy

are getting deeper

forming our own personal abyss

where the light becomes void

we at times

wish for love

but we are not open

to receive it

are we

one must open their hand

and allow their selves to receive

and to give

that which you desire

make room in your cup

pour out the stale stench filled sour waters

of your yesterday

there is a fountain

waiting to bubble forth

from that Rock

that can be cleaved

which is you, me, us, we

we at times

cling to our intelligence

and we are so

when we come to grips

that all we know

have ever known

has been relegated

to worldly things

a lesser expression

of who we can become

again

we at times

must let go

of the definitions

of how we see ourselves

and step out beyond the corral

for definitions are limitations

and the summations

are always the same

are they not ?

we get what we put in

we reap what we sow

so

rise up

go to the garden

and turn the soil

and toil this day

and plant new seeds

that we all may grow

and eat the sweet fruit

we at times

we at times

we at times

the time is always now

© 10 February 2013 : William S. Peters, Sr.

www.iamjustbill.com

www.innerchildpress.com

Lean on that !

Lean on that !

they come to you

professing themselves

to be Prophets, Apostles, Saints

and other such ‘Self Edifying”

emissaries of God

the Revelations spoke of them

telling us they would come,

the ‘Wolfish’ Demons

dressed as Sacred Lambs

they speak of such things

as end times

and other non congruous aspects

they term as God’s way

and attempt to convince us

through our vulnerable fears

that Source Father God

has spoken to them

and gave a token to them

to speak of things

that even the Christ

said

we shall not know

so how do they know

when the end time comes ?

but this is what i say

that if God wishes to speak

to me to you

He provides you with

His understanding

and not that of our own

and for those who are listening

it is already know

that God has not ever ceased

to whisper of the eternal peace

that is provided for His Children

of all walks . . . real talk

for in the end

no one can defend

and proclaim

that they know a way

with a certitude

save that of our hearts

our love

for each other

Brothers and Sisters

of the same Father of all things

Lean on that !

and let me worry about my own soul

save yours if you can.

© 2 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

to be of thee

to be of thee

let us hide ourselves in the bushes

and linger with our hopes

that they may be come aflame

with the presence of God

that we become consumed

by the Fire which purges

all of our dastardly ways

is this the ultimate sacrifice

as we so forlornly await

the presence to come upon us

i am lost

and i have wandered

for many years

in my own personal desert

a place where i have sacrificed

my innocence and wonder

upon the sands of time

will you cleave a rock for me my Lorde

that i may drink

for my soul thirsteth for thy Holy Water

let me drink thy fill

the Commandments of Old

have lost their flavor among Man

and we are resurrecting our Babel

that Tower that pays homage unto

our own “genius”

flawed as it may be

you see

i know you are a witness

for what can be hidden

from He who is all things

All Eyes On Me

is what Tupac said

and in my head

it resonated

and my desecrated

inebriated

self

demonstrated my disconnectedness

from that sacredness

i once took for granted

and now i long for

something about that dried up well

and i did not listen

to the telling of that story

either

but just the same

in whatever name

so be it

i do miss the water

and when this bush i hide behind

catches fire

my desire is but this

the bliss of that which i vie for

shall die for

deny no more

and that is

to be of thee

© 6 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

back to Eden

back to Eden

i have not always been a Good Father

nor Husband

nor Man

for i am a Poet

and my pain knew more

of my joy

than being a Father, Husband or Man

ever could

it is in the absence

of a thing

it is more cherished

an embrace in absent solitude

is held closer

than that of an everyday occurrence

in the end

what remnant memories

we may gather

of that which no longer appears as ‘is’

is celebrated

with each breath

as a hope offered unto the Celestial Holies

that time is truly cyclical

and will have the mercy

to bring about this love

lost

back again

to in-lighten the eye

of my heart

let us gather the wood

clean the hearth

make a quiet fire

and soon the day’s desire

shall kiss our needful expectations

with a heavenly anointed bliss

and we shall dance

as muses do

inspiring the souls

of poets to come

with such words

that transmute

the burdens of our day

we shall journey from

pain to joy

cowardice to courage

confusion to clarity

convexment to confirmation

that the disdain, despair and anguish

of man

which is required upon the path

shall carry us forth

back to Eden

© 5 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

What Is

What Is

standing in the mirror

of my consciousness

reflecting upon memories

attempting to come to conclusions

of who i am

a “C” minor chord

struck my ears

from the strings of the guitar

and a fleeting image passed

before my jaundiced psychic eye

and i remembered when i once

was a thief of dreams

telling the children

such daunting dastardly things

such as “NO . . .”Can’t” . . . “Don’t” . . . “Won’t”

dashing their wonder

first upon the Rocks

then into the mud

as mine had been done

so many times

in my past

by others

by

thoughts

by me

have i too become

that monster

in the dark

hiding under beds

waiting to prey upon

their dreaming

that i may thwart their abilities

to grow more “Discovery”

so they would look like me ?

i have done the same

with Lovers

as they have done to me

poking our fingers in each other’s eyes

so we could not see

each other’s truths

oh the pain

when the show is over

and the lights come on

and we realize

we so willingly played the part

yet we linger and hold on

loitering in life’s theatres

picking up stale popcorn

off the floors of our jaded reason

hoping to reignite

the Dear magic of illusion

but it can not be

can it ?

i catch a glimpse

of a truth

a glint of light of me

as the custodian ushers us to leave

my left eye catches this light

in it’s corner

for my “right”

is not aright . . . alright

it only sees me

as i command it to do so

it is i

who manifests

what it is i see

i am the “Let it Be”

and here i am

many aeons later

still sitting in this theater

telling my self

pretty little charming stories

about almost forgotten glories

about the “i am” that i am not

but i have not completely forgot

my One truth

i just hide

from what is

© 3 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

112 The Last Pope

112 The Last Pope

The Glory of the Olive

by a name of Peter

is due to come

will he walk Truth’s path

or create new realities

The Order of Benedictine

is upon us.

Shall Rome fall ?

Shall the gates be cast open

and knowledge

be given to the people ?

Oh Malachi

thou casts a shadow of fear

can we continue

to sleep with this

uncertain peace ?

the 7^th Candle awaits the lighting

and we shall see again

the Lion of our sweet Judah

rise up and roar

Temples shall fall

and the bells of the steeples

shall ring but for a while

before falling forever silent

but the song of the call

shall not go unsung

there is no rationing

that shall save thee,

not hedging of bets

for you are

or

you are not

the record of Life

has already been inscribed

with your name

or without

however

the quill and the inkwell

is still filled with the Blood

is still held

by the hands of your own

will you live

or embrace

that final traipse

and sleep

or awaken

and embrace

that which you have forsaken

that Divinity

with affinity

of who you are

and have always been

a Child becoming

© 6 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

exiled from love . . . an eclectic conversation with my Muse

exiled from love . . . an eclectic conversation with my Muse

i have unwittingly

but knowingly

exiled my self from love

i have withheld my self

and the potential harvest

restraining with deliberation

the fruit from its ripening

with it’s fullness

sure i let some sample my fruit

as i ate my selfish fill

of their hearts offerings

oh Muse of Muse

i will not force that hand

nor thy tongue

when thou translates

i will record

nor shall i beg for your return

i will strive to keep the ears

of my heart attentive

that i may hear the approach

as your grace precedes

your arrival

in the mean time

my Soul sings in silence

with tones of a reverent light

that anoints all the possibilities

of our co-joinery

when we are wed once again

a smile adorns my face

for there is a sacred trust

of the celestial of all things

and in my knowing

we have traveled this path

before us before

and to you i am cleaved

and my fruit of love is yours

to ripen as you will

and as you spill into my void

i give to the world

to eat their fill

of my love

as i have done

since time begun

and men took note

of the space betwixt

things

that they may assign

some verity

in lieu of clarity

as they unwittingly

yet always knowingly

exile themselves from love

© 6 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

to the Table . . .

to the Table

it is with every footstep

that i walk in faith

for the ground,

the floor

remains ever below me

that i shall not fall into the abyss

it is with every heartbeat

that my body is fed

and the essence of life is sustained

it is with every breath

that i am nourished

as that which is holy

and symbiotic

gives unto me another moment

of life  . . strung together

that i may hopefully awaken

and realize that i am connected

and a part of

something grander

than my empirically fleeting understanding

i walk in faith

i breathe in faith

it is by faith that the drum beats

calling for my attention

to that which is divine

me . . .  mine . . . mind

we do not question these things

nor do we spend our time

wondering if they shall

perform their duty

i take my hand and touch

that which was but a moment ago

but a vision

but a thought

and by my hand

and my cooperative creative consciousness

it has come to be

i am touched

and i touch

for that i know

is within my prowess

yet my step falters

in the realms of my dreams

for peace

and love

and abundance

all is of this Celestial Fabric

to which i am connected

and i ask . . . why ?

have i failed ?

if failure has no permanence

is not it still possible

to overcome

the limitations we have adopted ?

why is my faith so small ?

am i but a Mustard Seed

waiting to be nourished

by the Holy Waters ?

Buddha spoke of this

Christ reiterated

that we too can be sated

by such a small thing

it truly has potential

doesn’t it ?

let us gather our faith

and feed many

for the Mansions are empty

save for the Souls of yesteryears

the Souls of Saints

the Souls of the Mystics

the Souls of our Brothers and Sisters

and they are lonely,

for they cannot begin to dance and dine

until we bring our Faith

to the Table

© 27 January 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

watching clouds

watching clouds

peering at the soft daylight sky

with a uncertain semi still reverence

i look at the clouds

with the eye of my heart

and their gentle

shape shifting meanderings

conjure memories

as i creatively embrace

the possibilities

of what may come next

i feel the journey

i feel the migration

eased along

by the gentle atmospheric breeze

the trees of the wood

confirm my observances

as the resonate and clap

applauding the show

what is potential

to one who realizes their now ?

from whence does exponentialness come

who is thy Father

who shall bore thee

when the Fetus comes to term

i am reborn into a world of wonder

and the twinkle never leaves my eye

for i have been extricated

from the womb of darkness

and the light blinds me

with a passion to explore

and question

now hence many years

i ask

why did i need to travel this road

only to seek to return

to that place

before there was an innocence

for it was not yet defined

in my understanding

of dichotomous things

the stains upon our consciousness

may be purged

but what about the memories ?

so i look to the skies

just to escape the perceived limitations

watching clouds

© 26 January 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

i read

i read

i have read many books

i have read the passions found in the eyes

of those i took the time to notice

i have read the splendour of life

painted as smiles

upon the faces of children

and adults alike

i have read the joys and hopes

brought to the world

with each new Sun rise

and i rise

i have read the meaning of the message

found in the sound of

each beat of my heart

and that of my lover

i have read the longing passions

and desires

of her as well

as we vie for the communion

that has no end

i have read the footprints of wonder

as she unveiled herself

that a common man like i

may see her nakedness

i have read the wantonness of love

found on the lips of my beloved

when they touched my own

i have read the coming

of dreams approaching

i have read the gentles touch

and embrace

of my fair gentle man

these are but a few of the things i have read

and there is also other things i have read

that appeals not to me,

but they do offer knowledge

and that is . . .

i alone may discern what it is i choose to read

and what i choose to cherish

in all the things i have read

and i choose to cherish the lessons

that teach me to read good things

i read

© 29 January 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

Reading “The Pilgrimage”

by my beloved Brother Paul Coelho

and i hold on

and i hold on

i told her to hold on

that i may catch my breath

for she inspired me beyond

all the joys of my imaginations

for all they could embrace

were the dreams

of the possibilities

of what may come to be

how i long to lay my head upon her breast

for i know that my solace

is found in her heart beat

as i listen intently

to the blessings of her presence

with each sacred breath

my fingers long

to dance upon her skin

feeling the soft down

rise to greet me

with a desire now fulfilled

her lips has always

been a wonder of mine

and soon come

i shall taste of the nectar

they offer

just for my pleasure

a treasure i not share  with the world

save in my smiles of satisfaction

that i am blessed

oh the ways of love and longing

the songs my heart now sings

and this moment becomes eternal

as i glisten brightly

in the love

of this dream

of her and i

and i hold on

© 1 February 2013 : william s. peters, sr.

blessed be the child

blessed be the child

he put the Crown of Thorns

upon his head

hoping to bleed his mind

of all the errant thoughts

of the world

he searched for Crosses

for he had a pocket full of nails

and without fail

there was always someone available

to serve the purpose

of the hammering

not to mention those with piercing spears

whose fears had them

trying to kill that inner voice

only to have the water of spirit

pour out upon the Earth

his works were mighty

miraculous even

but they were not enough

the Virgins came running unto him

offering their secret treasures

for the sweet pleasures

only they dreamed about

who has the Oil for the Lamp

that all in the Room may see

and the Virgins may be fulfilled ?

he multiplied and fed the possibilities

and the feast was before them

who shall eat ?

the wine was abundant

but the people only understood

the temporal relief from their anguish

for a moment of brevity

for certainly

they were already inebriated by the world

but a few understood,

but none stood and professed

until they felt threatened

by their own surreal delusions

for their earnestly

was at best but a dance

for they heard not that music

that was always playing

so they went home

and threw them selves

a party of pity

celebrating their fitting dreams

that gets them by

but another day

they cast stones to the center of circles

hoping to demolish the demons

of their own false embraced convictions

and be deified

as they vilify their brethren

but they were not loosed . . .

just confused

for years to come

they followed the scent of salvation

with their hopes alone

but not their deeds

for their seeds and dreams

were not rooted in any particular reality

and the soils were shallow

and had no way to nurture the promise

the children  became the weapons of destruction

massly

and no mass could save them

nor could any priest

matter not how much confessed

their words became inflammatory

and incendiary towards one another

for the only important aspect of life

was “ME”

but they had already died

but knew it not

many have vied for a life

that was always theirs

but they knew it not

many prayed to a God without

but He resided within

but they knew it not

many loved a certain few

never realizing

that the Agape for all

was required here

but they knew it not

they hated themselves

and continued through each moment

to persecute their inner Saviour

by not believing in the message

but they knew it not

for to persecute the object

the messenger

was not threatening

it was better

to embrace their Barabas

and celebrate with more wine

and song

like some victory

had been achieved

let us vilify our Judas

let him become our objective Demon

for serving the part

of delivering the ultimate blow

kill the messenger you say

but he has already hung himself

in that tree

on that hill

that we may never forget

how we Slaughtered the Lambs

let us eat our Young

and smile with an inordinate glee

and we shall perish together

holding to our illusory love

as we create our own God

who shall judge us favorably

as we so wish

the Blind lead the Blind

and none may find

the way

for the way is found

in trust

of our Divine

not our Mind

and perspectives of our objectives

and how all should go

the way that

that small i in me should choose

still confused . . . .huh ?

a consideration is

when we let go of the outcome

and enjoy the journey

and gather the lessons

and pay them forward

we then come into a being of service

and what we then gather is our joy

we can then deploy our goodness

and profess that

“we deserve this”

for then we serve the purpose

of giving life unto life

blessed be the child

(31 January 2013 : william s. peters, sr.