They come and go
They go in and out
They grimace when I copy their sounds
Their wings are unformed or vanished
That is really a sadness
They must keep me caged from envy
Their purpose is unclear
They press their strange faces up to the bars
When the door stood opened
I was paralysed
I know I shouldn’t be here
I see open eyes and closed doors
as I see faces pass in the crowd,
all those secrets within,
all those wishes and dreams,
the dark sadness so often seen.
What would they say
if I asked them to stay
and give all their secrets away?
Would they lie or tell me the truth?
Do we sing from one page?
Unfulfilled?
Whatever their stage,
whatever their race,
whatever the date of their birth,
are their feelings so different from mine?
And where is god in all this?
Does god even exist?
In our breath, in water, in fire?
We all die, but are we divine?
What I hear is one voice and one choir.
Now here before me I see
the uncrossable bridge,
a drawbridge raised beyond.
It’s made of ice.
On the other side,
holding on to imagined hurt,
clinging to thoughts,
counting,
saying nothing to me,
quivering in rage or sadness,
confused perhaps,
a victim to perception sits
in visions I cannot change.
I cannot know what she thinks.
She won’t allow me across.
I watch as I stand.
I can’t reach out,
hold
or help.
Locked out.
This is often the worst,
the worst of the worst of all.
Misunderstanding
breathes in the silence
between us,
in unspoken words
through closed doors,
no air.
This is injustice.
Heartless.
A vacuum.
A chasm.
A void.
Unwise.
Silence, a solid structure
of ancient deeply grained timbers,
sealed and barred,
a simple torture device
that stands on immovable stone.
Left with a hard decision to make,
for myself and how I feel,
the choice between anger
or sadness or nothing,
nothing at all.
I could ignore it again.
In nothingness
there’s no pain.
On days like this
I would willingly give up
on words
or thinking at all.
I can’t help myself either.
I am frozen,
emptily sad.
what makes the sun hot and ice cold?
what makes the glow in the embers of fire?
why does the river twinkle and dazzle?
where does time come from that
turns slowly, yet passes so quickly?
how does sunset and beauty bring peace?
wood smoke contents me, raindrops refresh,
moonlight entrances, the stars make me dream.
Though I’m so small in the great scheme of things
a change in the wind from the south can inspire me,
a wind from the north stiffens resolve,
sunlight dancing through branches
lifts my heart like a bird in the morning,
the daisy that shines in the grass makes me smile
but when will I learn to be more aware?
What is the source, the centre, the fount?
Why do scientists and priests think they know
when all of their answers belittle the truth?
How does the world so touch my heart
that I can be lifted from sadness and sorrow
to joy in a moment? What makes life?
The essence, the glory, the blessing is
that I feel and see all these astonishing things,
yet will never know the answers at all.
there’s no shortage of sadness
– install a switch of gladness
to run all the happiest snapshots, quick,
it’s a very effective mood changing trick
analysis is all a theory
likely to make you feel dreary
at worst it may lead to madness
– so press that button dearie!
The Dreaming Path 