He told me to run,
Run to me, run into this emptiness
Run unto the distant land that holds your heart
You will choke and become blind
With tears of history unfolding before mankind’s eyes
You see them laughing, holding, stalking the beast below
You will dance when all whirlwinds of purple melancholy turn to pray
No one will be smiling for they will have forgotten their names
The ones they cherished most will be carried beyond the sky
In each second, your heart will become closer to that distant land
Further into a tunnel, turned away by a sirens ocean
A simple word,
A fevered soul
Come upon the threshold that holds you so.
So deep the vacancy of your arms.
You pull and push your way, through mists and webs
We hold each other with ghost hands
We hear the cannons fire and see all that burns
We return to the ash that bore us doomed
I wait for your breath upon my skin
You dress the canyons and fields with gentleness
You remain hidden in lace and churn the water into an ocean.
We taste the earth and return unbroken
Seeking our way home.
Patty Smith ~ Photo by Annie Leibovitz
I have my mantras
At 45 I still believe myself to be 28
With scars and wounds, opened for all to see
Perfection to the stars
With mud underneath my nails and yes, hair on my ass.
They go as the following, if my life force allows me onward.
Fabulous at 50
Sexy at 60
Stunning at 70
Energized at 80
Nesting at 90
I will follow the wisdom of the women before me, behind me and next to me.
Because in the present I shed my skin at night and dress up in the morning.
I never remember wrapping myself with the dirt around
I can’t remember the moment when I ran down the street
Shelter, please protect me.
To the place on the street, slipping down the drain
Watching the rainbow, the pure sheen of oil
Is the monument still standing? It kisses each crescent and then travels
on and on
But when does it reach heaven? Is it the same floor I climbed to reach my bliss
The white and red, the gluttony of shallow skin stretched thin
I turn around and walk down the stairs that turn into a path
The softness of the earth, the intoxicating joy of the pines
I rejoice in wrapping myself with the air, leaves, quenching my thirst with the rain and then falling deep into the earth.
Is it hard to hold this gaze?
Beautiful smile to join this game
You stroke my hair and laugh
Master of disguise in the suns shadow
You fill the world with nighttime wonder
With a travelers word
Come softly to this place
That I call home
In the mists and fingertips
Your spell divine
My fading echo that follows you from behind
Who am I to be laying on a bed of crushed roses?
The thorns poke and tear at my flesh.
But the sweet perfume and the softness of the petals relax me,
Maybe to remind me that I am alive.
I left my focus at the threshold.
You tried to hold my hand and embrace the change, but the stirring of the heart is drawing close.
Don’t worry about the journey as we arrive. It may be cold, hot or perfect to the touch. Like the fireflies by the pond, a short time we have here running in parallels.
We write and sing about storms but it is the mist that stings with chills.
No devotion to the souls that weep in autumn. We gather and collect those innocent hearts that have been broken.