Is it naïve to believe that beauty
Might last forever; that sapience
Could reign supreme; that life might
Blossom in gloriously unending colors?
LONGING for that special day to arrive –
IMPASSIONED when at last it does –
RHAPSODIC at times in our pursuits of the intangible …

Beguiled inexorably in times
Continuity; our lives ebb and flow to
Invisible forces around us, while deep
Within us the storm clouds quietly
Descend, and snow arrives on a
Whisper; a Blanket of White
Changing our acuity.
With every breath I pray for
Purity to arrive on the wings
Of love, justice, and honor, and
For Truth to flow as a purging
River through the hordes of
Darkened souls apprehended
By the razor riddled catamenia
Of never ending exploitation …

Such are the enigmatical histories of
Ancient civilizations; appearing briefly
As wildflowers on the scrolls of time.
The Anasazi, the Mayan, the Aztec, the
Zapotec’s, the Mixtec’s, the Rognvalds …
Traversing great oceans, living in the valleys,
Or within deep alcoves on varnished cliffs,
On high mountainous ridges, or in forsaken
Deserts — mystifying and baffling all those
Who inquire — ancient cultures enshrouded in
Underground caverns, along rivers, prospering,
Falling, but always leaving behind unique legacies
Of art, music, and words to ascertain, and grow, and
Learn from. Sadly these cultures, in all their nobleness
And mystery, are now only guidelines for exploitation
To a pandemic of self-centered, pandering, skeptical,
Greedy generations who use them as a means to
Further personal agenda and cause profit.

Notwithstanding our dreams and outlooks;
Or our unending propensity to misread the
Signs along the paths we walk; presuming
We have discernment in the first place, and
That our singularity of spiritual vision elevates
Us beyond the evolving tunnel vision of most
Around us …
All things remain firmly in the
Hands of a loving Creator whose ways are
Not our ways, and whose thoughts are far
Beyond our power to comprehend.
Still; we are all framed by freewill
And personal choices, and, where
We choose to plant our seeds will
Always demarcate the harvest that
Will inevitably ensue.

So . . . life continues to
Ebb and flow to invisible
Forces around us, and deep
Within us the storm clouds
Quietly descend and snow
Arrives on a soft whisper; a
Blanket of white encouraging
Our perceptivities and the
Perceptions of those
Around us.