let yourself be led,
not as sheep to the slaughter
nor guided by a feeble hand gnarled by lifetimes
grabbed and grasping
the blank canvas possesses a multitude of expressions,
and when you unloose seduction’s illusion of control,
divest yourself of the implacable quest for understanding,
revelation will shower you
with a gentle, knowing mist.
reason’s antediluvian yoke shoulders you unfailingly
along a highway marked by fevered rutting,
memory’s danse macabre holds you hamstrung in its spell,
your impassioned struggle
tightens the very noose you labor to untwine.
every answer bogs the unlimited
each question a treachery you inflict on your protean spirit,
a boomerang of voices does not a choir make
that which leaves you unfruited time and again
is but a stone torn clean of succulent flesh.
the rose blooms unashamed, without expectation
the inaccessible has nothing to offer
for the living,
not a single step leads to standstill.
summerhill still life,
You are very welcome.
May blessings fill your being without end.
Now this…is intelligent inspiration Rachel! :)
In Cascading Love…