Eternal energy is all matter of living.  There is much forgotten wisdom need pass through many doors to enter through the one door of deserving . . . that which, is soul-peace.

Red door
Image: Credit: Bhutan, photo
by Ami Vitale via

Sweet silent solitude—air of sublime tranquility—‘Muse’ of Love’s desire seeking attention of heart strings and ear in fervent need to give discerning understanding of moments beeching what comes of stories of long ago of a childhood’s journey across waters of silent reflection of intertwined storms of chaotic rhythm to show the child the things of before of the things of a love so pure once been but never wavered. A moment come to give a child ‘called’ long ago to the ways of lessons once known, given to perpetual remembrance.

Am I of moment?  A child of moment did ask.  A ‘muse’ within did answer, “You, are essence of instruction—seer of great battle of wills. Step away from the left and the right of mind’s imprisonment, for there can be no more accepting questions not answered, nor answers not questioned. Glorious Earth’s blood has been drank dry, her own made drunken in the drinking of precious fluids of calm and scale.  Come . . . come now through unreasoned pangs of darkness of realms leading nowhere.  Stand hence and forward at the center with unseen Masters . . . the intimates of first beginnings.

Called by names they’ve been who’ve yet to be stilled of untold pains: A cumbersome tolerance given to bringers of Love to the realm of heavy hearts—bringers of knowledge to teach faith of move and might, entrusted to ‘see’ all things of were and still.  An eye of great moment opens doors of redbloodlines forgotten of flow and mark from the dawn of standing guarded: A sacred ‘something’ of must of hidden protectorate. Eye of all moments gives keys to memory’s door to let spill freely unto now’s paths of place of forgetfulness.  Walk hence in delight of grace and joy and peace within memory’s Locus of persistence.  Just be but a candle giving light; a warrior through battles of I, for Love’s sake.  Let wisdom be a quiet intention of the fathers’ given to all who wish to ‘see’ all things of a planned progression of dignity’s Divinity: An awe of understanding of all things of connective creative imagination.

A child of wonder wonders still upon full-grown shoulders of a wondering of questions to ask of answers unquestioned.  Moment comes now full circle to life giving kindle-ment; a quelling of incessant darkness of hearts bearing history’s gross thieving.  Eye of moments gives to mind life’s rhythms and reason—riches spilled ten-fold upon the souls of violets and golds.  Look back not on the secreted nothingness keep-sackers—nonsensical false key-masters of ungodly and compromised logic.  Only one door is right for the ones of all one.   All others lead to empty paths without remedy.  I am awe of all moment, saith the ‘muse’. Welcome, child of mine through the door of red. Answer you must wisdom’s knocks upon blood memory.

Life is at play and  is constant through moment’s conflicts of contradiction and constraints of relentless humanity’s insanity.  A Judgment of thorns is now issued upon the rose of pretense, and justice of thorns’ judgment is mine unto the hearts of grim; a refusal to listen and heed the words of the heart of all hearts—place of offering of eye to ‘I’ to ‘see’: A reason begotten of move where Queens and Kings sit on the edge of deciphers reign of patience.  I, am the moments for gathering forbearance; a surrounding to further weaken the weaknesses of hegemony’s reign over the thoughts of mortals.

Oh yes child, a will begotten of attention is mine entitled glory and deserving states of awe.  ‘God’ . . . is all eye of moment: A humbled assurance near forsaken.  Living matters are of eternal energies.  There is much forgotten wisdom to be remembered and need be passed through many doors to enter the one door of deserving, that which, is the blood-door of place and peace.” ©



“A Place Called Gratitude” . . .

My favorite place apart from the world is within: A solitude of poetic silence.
















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