Miraculous People

What I saw that day, my mind insisted were people,

running back and forth—silhouettes—they were equal.

What I saw that day, I just couldn’t conceal

their shape was mine, it almost didn’t seem real.

See original thought comes before the prequel,

because the love we’re born with exists before evil.

What I saw that day, sure I know they were people,

while my beginner’s mind worked, I couldn’t help but feel

—their heart’s skip beats—my heart was healed,

by what I saw that day on a beach filled to equal:

coexistence at birth, we’re miraculous people.

I let my ego take control

I let my ego take control

I lost myself but didn’t know

who or why or where to go

when I let my ego take control.

I let my ego take control

my face it turned white as a ghost

both fear and faith live in limbo

when I let my ego take control.

I let my ego take control

seconds split in vertigo

but quick as silver there it goes

only a house, never a home

when I let my ego take control.

I’ll be a mourning dove

Every thought is vital, so while I find myself
on the verge of another vital breakdown,
at least this time I’m in control,
creatively speaking,
so that’s got to count for something.
If not, I’ll be pushing daisies by morning,
or at least I’ll be a mourning dove, lying in their virtue.

Yesterdays sadness today.

The day
is cold
and rainy,

the walls
smell
of paint,

a hint
of death
lingers,

my pockets
are
running dry,

control
is
a state of mind,

right now
I’m
out of it,

I bought
flowers
to liven up the room,

they
help
some,

today is
a soggy
mess,

as for
tomorrow
we will see.

The point
is,
that we will see tomorrow.

When Powerful Voices Become Saints.

Powerful voices
don’t scream
they
listen,

they
aren’t forceful
they
think,

they
don’t condemn
they
heal,

they
know it’s not their duty,
they
do not seek control,

they
are powerful
in their
absence of hate,

they
are powerful
in their
acceptance of love,

they
are not
black or white
but every color in between,

they
never seem to get the press
the screamers get –
not until they’re dead do they become saints.