It Was All Of That (+5)

I thought it was the words,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the feelings,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the understanding,

  but it was more than that

 

And I thought it was the insight,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the lyric,

  but it was more than that

 

I then thought it was the melody,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the joy they brought,

  but it was more than that

 

And I thought it was the talk I talked,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the times,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the friendship,

  but it was more than that

 

I thought it was the love,

 but it was even more than that

 

And on the day that I stopped

  thinking

    —it was all of that!

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

 

 

A Doorless Mystery

 

Hitchhiking through the wormhole,

  all time was left behind

 

Distance collapsing upon itself

  reflections other side

 

Waste material of a life unspent

  flowing back in a parted stream

 

Entry to a doorless mystery

  —from a lost forgotten dream

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

 

Deep Inside

 

There’s a higher level

  of being

 

Than you’ve thought

  or felt before

 

There’s a greater

  state of consciousness

 

Once you learn then

  to ignore…

 

All those things that can

  distract you

 

Those that keep you on

  the shelf

 

As the heavens play a

  forgotten song

 

Sung deep inside

  —yourself

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

Spellbound

 

Using letters for wishes,

  the emptiness ended

 

Binding together my present,

  future, and past

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

 

 

Mine To Know

 

I want to play not manage,

  write not teach

 

I want to drive—all controls in hand

 

I want to be like the rain across

  the mountains

 

Not the river that may turn to sand

 

I want to be that sniper

  with a single bullet

 

And not part of the infantry’s trek

 

I want to be the first

  to cross the tundra

 

Without needing a map to check

 

I want the bugle to blow

  from my own lips

 

So others may advance and attack

 

I want roses free, to line

  my front walk

 

Replanted from the garden out back

 

I want feet that will always

  climb above

 

The timid and reluctant below

 

I want memories to follow me

  out of this world

 

To a place that is just mine to know

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)