There's is still the starlit night by which to see, beacons innumerable shedding their light.
And toddlers giggles unfettered and free. Look around you there is much which sustains gratefully.
Take a moment to taste the air upon your nostrils, your belly heave.
If you jump upward- bound can you feel when your toes leave ?
Planting back down have you solid ground beneath your feet?
Go ahead settle into earth's firm seat.
Its support is stable and grand.
Present, supportive, there when you land.
But so too air's embrace as you leaped far
for a moment outstretched to a star.
When last did you notice the maple outside tossing its leaves to its windy partner, carefree and bare.
Its former adornments now swirled in the air.
You seek solace in shows; barricade yourself in an echo chamber of rage,
submerge your head in grief, turn the plot's page.
And so for a time that may be whats needed
but harken to words now well heeded.
Your vision narrowed and amnesiac of who you really are,
may cloud the sky, but not extinguish the star.
So much masquerades, self important and showy, beckoning you to taste poison fruit.
Do not be deluded by illusions.Pay them no mind - all moot.
Misogynistic words cannot contain infinity.
Silence is unbroken by shouts of profanity.
Truth is not marred by racist arrows shot blind,
nor compassion unraveled by deeds done unkind.
Your space, our space, space itself always unsullied.
Far beyond that which can ever be bullied.
You may know pain but that is never all.
Always there is more than what appears as our fall.
Do not limit your imagination to the dominating frame or shell.
The thundering plane, the chime of the bell.
The shared smile of passing young men,
the hum of the compactor churning again.
Stillness: that which births sound,
the guide dog, it's master curled round.
They are your atlas, your map, road and journey.
Start where you are; amidst great uncertainty.
Dwell in your wholeness just simply be.
That if anything is the only recipe.
We're I to say, do nothing perhaps some would claim truth bent,
but is that which is stated really that which is meant.
Many paths converge on the night starlit.
To find your way home. Simply,
quit.
