The New Journey

Unsure of my steps
I follow your lead
Not knowing what lies ahead
On the path we tread together

I keep pace with you
To stay within reach
Your light illuminating our way

I will trust you
Relax into your rhythm
Your easy stride tells me you are sure,
You are confident
In where we are headed

I sigh in relief
Accepting that the journey
Will be as much the point
As the destination

© 2007 pac611

The Living Cathedral

I went to pay homage at the living cathedral

bright blue sky adorned ceiling

pulse of the ocean hymns

rolling waves sermon

And spirits hovered over me

white-winged, golden-eyed

Crying in a tongue I could not speak

yet fully comprehended

I, the penitent

wayward soul

returning to hear once more

"Welcome home, child"

And I worshiped

© 2006 pac611

Cold Bones

The cold seeped into my bones
chilling my core
till my soul felt frozen in place

Unable to move
to dance, to sing
I waited for the thaw

Then you came
alight with a fire of your own
I was drawn in

You engulfed me
but there was no burn
only blessed warmth

Freed by your fire
I have feet again, and voice
alive in your flame

© 2006 pac611

The Journey of Words

I gave life to you
Lips, tongue, teeth, breath
Your creator
Once I breathed you to life
You had free will
And all I can do is wait
To see if you will return to me
And in what form

Like some “Where’s George?” game
I can trace your path once I set you on your course
But I can no longer direct you
Nor force my will upon you
Once spoken, you have life
And cannot be unmade

I sent you to him
Full of intent
But with your own will
You conveyed a different message

You return to me through him
The same, but different
A tone I did not speak
The message missed its mark

He received you
My creation
But he did not receive me
Your will imposed upon mine
Telling him what I did not say

© 2006 pac611

The Cold Wind

The cold wind blows
the empty shell down the well-traveled road.
Bumping into obstacles makes no difference
to the empty shell, because it is hollow
And cannot feel.

The road is familiar
though there are some new twists in the path.
In spots mud sucks the shell in, threatening to consume it
But the wind dries the mud and blows the shell along.

Strangers see the shell, but it doesn’t register in their memory
because it is just an empty shell, not worth noticing.

Till the cold wind blows
the empty shell to a resting place
where the wind cannot reach.
The howling subsides,
and the shell abides
in anticipation of being

Filled again.

© 2006 pac611