How I Was Made II.

Dark.

Light.

Hands.

Dust.

Man.

Old Now.

Tomato, Tomäto.

Potato, Potäto.

Fruit to the counter and

bread to the bowl.

What once was in pieces

is now made whole.

Deer, buck, doe and fawn.

Peter, Paul, Jesus and John.

God took the dust

and from it came man.

All of this from an old

potters hand.

At this old table now I sit,

my stomach and kidney

within me are lit.

Remembering back,

when things were tough,

how they went from satin smooth

to sand paper rough.

But now I'm old

with little to do,

no more time

with which days to rue.

So now I lay me

down to sleep,

I pray the night

my dreams to keep.

From doe's and fawns

to Jesus and John,

I'll be thankful for them all

in the silver coming dawn.

Days.

They moved on like clouds in the sky. Some very fast and some very slow. But most of them just sauntered on like horses grazing in field. Time to spare. Time to think. Time to slow down even more.

And it was a boy who noticed all of this. The days and all their slowness and quickness.

It was his gratification in these days that made them his. No one else's. Just his.

He owned them. He found pleasure in them. For, to him they are all clips of a much larger show. A show that would go on forever and ever and ever.

The players of this show being an oak tree and a humming bird and a lion and some clouds and rain and boys and girls playing on some swings and dogs and pregnant mothers and daddies who go off to work early in the morning and flies caught in the blinds and old women reading books at breakfast tables and fish swimming in blue water.

These were his players. These were his masterpieces.

Boy and the days.

Just seconds really, nothing more and nothing less.

Rock.

In the hearts of men there is an anger that comes from a place far away. And it was in this place that the freedom and peace of man was stripped. But now, if nearness to these things is longed for, man must go down to the river and listen to voices of the people from ages past. They must lift the rocks of the bed and hear the words that made the mountains. They must try to remember the phrases that brought the mountains together and that formed the seas.

i carry your heart

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

~e. e. cummings