The Book within the Temple: Spiritual Poems

Gray Night Undistinguished

Gray night, undistinguished.

It is all the same,

The eye cannot see it

There is no point of reference

It is a moving curtain

Drawn to a close.

I am the point of reference

Out side of me it is only the blanket of clouds

It is only the blanket one rolls in

It is only the softness like feathers.

Written on the Body

Written on the Body was really written on the Soul. She really loved into the words positive. She was building, spinning a wheel of wool, like no other. Shaking off flakes, rolling in dead leaves, brown. Written on the body words never read; steel words, stolen from her own heart – stolen away.

She was running in the night, a spring of cool water going back to the ground, into unearthed caverns, cyclically. I have walked over those caverns unknowing; past graves of souls risen. Only the headstone remains with their name whispered by their grandchildren, casting a shadow. They will not see the light.

Clouds have formed and dissolved over them, reflecting the light away from them.

Stealing the light.