What a quagmire, life is.

A black hole of insecurities, and self-growth,

of lessons learned, in getting burned..

of falling, and rising back up every time..

of hurts, and worse, and a mountain of joyful bursts..

of wounds, and pain, and relive it again, and again..

of dreams fading with time, evident of deep brooding..

of times alone, and equal measure of business..

of love, and hate..

of worry, and confidence..

of new faces, and lost places,

of holding on, by fingers and nails,

of longing to travel, by plane, and rail..

of everything you can think of, we endure,

all in equal balance of one and the other..

all drifting like sand on beaches.. moved by the water..

this is life, and this is our path until death..

the one path we all walk on, the two doors, we walk through..

of this, we are familiar, of this we share the bond..

we are incarnates, from beyond.

(ddsonnenburg - (8-10-2014)

from afar,


I look without the veil of words
and that look is vaster
than any thought of mine.

The desert is sparse and vast.

These words of ours are desert echoes.
What will be the call you hear?

A reflection, a glance,
one unguarded moment
and all is known.

Look up and out
away from the world of man.

Such looking out is looking in.

The trees and your mind
rest in the same clear, blue sky.

The body is leaving on its own,
swimming in a pool of silence
that swallows every protest.

Writing about this destination is ludicrous.

Dip your mind into the setting sun.

Leaving by such passing is closer to the truth.

While all words fail to convey depth,
the wind carries a pervading message:
Lose your place in line,
turn to face your mystery,
and open your denying arms.

The dream doors have collapsed
and empty air speaks silent volumes.

Love is no answer.

It already holds all in its grasp.

Your answer is beyond these dealings,
beyond thoughts and feelings,
and in the realm of seeing
all that is leaving—holding to no thing,
that does not last.

I am the space
between grasses blown by the wind.

Everything moves through me.

You turn to the world that beats at your door
because this body is tuned to life’s needs
and not your soul’s.

Where is your true life
among this fog of being?

Where is rest,

Only by remembering the possibilities,
wonder stolen by imagined consequences,
shuddering questions raised
by fanciful twilight moments,
and dreams of perfection,
will you close your door to this world,
then, later,
let it pass through your empty home.

by: Shawn Nevins

(via ddsnorth) ONE Of of FAVE Poems

Kahlil Gibran - The Farewell(excerpt)

Society’s Child

Society’s Child

I saw a child, today;

crying, from hunger and pain.

She lay there curled up like a ball,

oblivious i was there, at all.

I watcher her tears,

as they’d swell,

from haunting eyes, then they fell.

i wanted to reach out, to embrace,

and offer to take her place.

What happened next suddenly is,

she stopped, when she noticed me,

then she wiped a tear from her eye,

lifted her hand, and said: ‘hi’..

then, asked if i’d like to stay,

and she’d split her rice, two ways.

Author: DD.Sonnenburg(8/2000)