On the clearest day
I see the city skyline,
where metaphor and reality meet
the artists eye interprets easily
down river to the poets pen,
awakens you to all the earthly delights
visible and invisible
all around you—
the bursts of peeper song
through the marshes on either side of you
the shining mirrors of the moon
closing at the beaches ends
and opening to the beginning
of the sacred sea and sky.
To be able to see clearly
even if not up close
is what helps
on every sailors journey
in every kind of sea.
Maybe it needs to be as tangible as
remembering each
building across the ocean
is still only made up of bricks and mortar
and a whole city didn’t appear over night.
Maybe having a dream
is as simple as seeing a ship
but instead of someone rescuing you
you are already behind the helm
and the only one
you are chasing is the shore
and you become friends with the wind
and gain knowledge
wisely from the islands of insight
you anchor up to along the way,
and time is on your side.
In reality a dream
can be as simple
as the idea of a ship
heading home to shore.
Now see yourself
across the horizon
never giving up until
you meet the shore
and then when you finally
do get there,
kiss the sand
between your fists.
Your dreams are tangible too
you just have to reach out
and touch each each grain
and always take
life one moment
of sand at time.
Time and wind and changing temperatures
made the bedrock
of the ocean—
imagine what you can do
with your time.
Time is made possible because sand became stone and only stones are left behind
at the end of time.
What’s left behind
when you write down
everything even if it doesn’t rhyme?
In the beginning
there was a place
that was not at
the end
of time.
Time did not exist then,
back to the castle of my Magnolia childhood home
before I met you
again for the first time
and brought you here
on these rocks
to promise to always
hold your hands
in mine
and to always
protect honor and love this love
we share
eternally.
Here is what I know:
I love you now and
I will always love you
and I plan to spend
my time making
sure as stone
you know
in the depth of your being
and in every single bone
I love you for who you are
and who you were
and who you are becoming.
If castles came from thinking
and stones
imagine what is possible
when poets turn words into poems
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