Nihilistic minds in fast-forward frenzy. Rewiring truth to treason. Waterboarding nirvana ’til it speaks in tongues of technicolor oblivion. Getting harder to breathe in a world of oxygen-depleted reason. Between the boomdoom of bombs, all the guns and global unrest, do your best to train kisses to coax blisses from hard-bitten lips. Strive for a giddiness that tingles when its G-spot is stroked with a certain satisfaction for life.
A tree rises in our mind’s light. It is lush with green speakings and bird-song sympathies. Heart leaves fed by grace’s rains. Stones and shadows cleared to make room for roots of new illuminations. In this garden, humanity, compassion, and wisdom have a place for ripeness. From sunrise to sundown, may this fruitful bounty feed our souls. May it discourage darkness from suffocating all the goodness we’ve grown.
I’ll write my last will and testament on a raindrop. When it dries up, I’ll become one with the clouds. I’ll come and go in a variety of shapes and forms: castle, dinosaur, heart. I’ll drift across sky’s dizzy dazzling blue; rub elbows with bird song and sun’s roaming gold. And when I rain, I’ll gather all the clouds on which you’ve daydreamed. I’ll storm a sudden warmth of smiling faces. I’ll light up the sky with transmissions of a bold, electric love.
Here comes another rough and ragged sunrise; shirt open, golden belly hanging out. One too many hangovers and toothaches. One too many lost loves, flat tires, and severe cases of heartburn. Blistered feet, dead tired from having trudged across the sky one too many lifetimes. Still, the sun never complains. Never leaves us in a lurch. Winter, spring, summer, fall, it’s always on time. It holds us, heals us. Offers us our daily dose of honeyed light.
In the song of rubble we search for you, freedom. We dream of you through many sleepless evenings, freedom. The mothering night sky guards your North Star, freedom. We riot for you, freedom. We are the wolves stalking ravenous lies to protect you, freedom. No bombs or sarin gas will destroy you, freedom. We share your blood and breath, freedom. We run to you with open arms, freedom. Your name is forever on our lips, freedom.
A parade of the broken hearted drifts along sorrow’s boulevard. Ashen-eyed and ghost-homed, they know not where they’re going. Their magnetic north: a ballad shambles. For too long, they’ve been buried deep within a grave of wounds. Made dizzy-footed by these disorienting times. Their voices moored to stones that can only recite the bomb’s gospel. The broken hearted don’t ask for much, just to be heard. Above the grinding gears of our world’s unforgiving machines, I hear the parade cry out: never dream you have forgotten how to dream.
Word roots writhe against clock’s cruel turnings. Flowering thoughts rise skyward. Wisdom and intuition shape clouds, sparkle sun, define air. Gone apocalypse’s mockingbirds. Gone hatred and isolation. No more mad hallucinations haloing humankind. No more Mother Liberty strapped to a gurney, kicking and screaming all the way to the insane asylum. From heart’s havoc we create unity. From dystopia’s dregs we distill compassion’s sweet nectar. We shed the ragged wail for absolute love and light. This radiance peoples our sorrows with a new language. We embody an alphabet that names one another kindred spirits.