From a soul that must

by justme

Our father where are you? Who are you ? Who am I?
I have spat words and words, added opinion until I cry.
I have pursued things and people, selfish, imaginary wealth.
I have believed I was the orchestrator,
the giver and taker of health.
I have ignored the call and fall from birth to tomb
Whoever, whatever you are?
I fall silent.
I have ran out of room!

Floating ember fairy lights pin up the sky

While, shooting falling teardrops, break up and cry

to spread across a black hallowed darkness of empty space

And flash a vast peaceful picture,through almighty grace.

Tiny human, looks on, as a slight, delicate, speck of dust

yet releases a powerful silent whisper, from a soul that must,

Find it’s place within this vastness of all things unknown,

Just a human and this thing called universe, innocently, quietly, all alone.

She falls silent

and gently, beautifully, she slips home.

Read by the author

Credits:poem-prayer©justme; Image©CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved;

The greatest treasure

Seek not the farther good, seek not that which seems beyond the pale, but rather look for your joy within your brothers heart, for it is in the heart of your neighbour lies the greatest treasure. It is in the laughter of your chat and the babble of your children, in the rush of the morning and at the busy breakfast table you shall find your joy

and he continued:

many have sought in the clouds or sought peace in another, but few have entered the silent place, few have understood they cannot see because the universe has chose it so, let you not be like them, let you when you hear the words – this is wrong, this is right, let you know that every right and every wrong is but only wrong or right for you. 

When confusion lifts her bedraggled head let your heart and mind and soul cry out, I dont know! Then the universe shall lift you and holding you close and gently stroking your head it shall rock you to sleep, and you will wish to know no more.

Credit: writing © justme; Image@ CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved

Let me out

by justme 

Like little lambs dressed as wolves they come
Snapping, alert ready to pounce
Enlightenment they seek.
What is enlightenment but a set of words?
That bangs against the loudest drum
Full of wind and stress to seek the better life
Self discovery they shout
Self improvement they want

Those vile slippery things
Their bellies suck the very dirt from the earth
As they slither upon the stage
With elegant head and spit they impress the crowd
The crowd of dim witted fools who look to direction,
led and savour only the moments they are told to savour.

Alas and well the man appear with silent tones and nothing dear
He hits upon the vile with fury and sends the dead to rest
No sleeping he as he stands upon the rock and looks down upon the restless dead,
no sleeping he as his hand moved to check his breath.

Die you in vain. No you are not the truth you are merely the darkness while life is gone.
Ancient Greece paints the picture of men in the cave of tramping individuals staring at a wall of lead.
They look to the fire and see the shadows of themselves.
When arm moves up or leg moves out still they recognise not their limbs.
Suddenly one who escapes comes back still they sit and have the craic.
Awaken ,awaken you foolish men your talk of right and wrong must end.
The discussion about nothing is stopped and lost.
The importance of point is always forgot,
He led them out from in the cave the silly architects who were but slaves.

The light of man upon their face.
Nothing was right in that dark place
All words and opinion shattered – yes it all
Not even a piece was left one inch tall
Like men in a cave we won’t listen to the message and shout.
Please stop right now.
Forget everything I said. Let me out !

Read by the author
Credits: poem © justme; Image © Michaela; All rights reserved

A tiny voice whispers…

Within the rush of life, in the corner of your mind, your eye – you sense the moon, the stars. Those mysterious flickers you ignore because your busy. Yet within the thought is your habit, all you have claimed your own, pushing you north, yet, west of you silently, quietly, unassuming, the space it calls you, through pinholes it, like a god bursting flare it pierces that part of you which you disregard, yet somewhere within that ignoring, within the hustle and bustle and knowing and growing a tiny voice whispers, ‘look at me, you who search the perfect, for I am indeed the perfect yet you will not look, you refuse to turn your eye’.

For you are blind. The blind leading the blind.

Can you see and yet be blind ?
Writings © Justme; Image © Catrinphoto; Reflection © Michaela; 
All rights reserved