Be Positive

Slowly,

loneliness creeps in at the edges of spoken words.

One by one they fall away to answer another call.

You begin to fall

into that hole that is so big

from a lifetime of digging.

At first, you claw at the edges, your

hands where your feet were

from what seemed like just a moment before.

And then your hands hurt, and your voice is

raw from screaming for help and

you realize

nobody is coming to save you.  

And so you let go.

And then you begin to occupy more of yourself,

from the momentum of loss,

filled to the edges instead of

a conglomerate mess.

And suddenly a knife appears,

clenched in your fist,

tattooed on the skin

between your shoulder blades.

A warrior is born.

And you know that

you have been here before.

And each time you have, you forgot to

fill that gaping hole with dirt.

That those seeds you threw in

when you were sitting pretty

indoors, are pretty much useless

without fertile soil.

We forget that we do not always need

a spiritual practice, but when we do need it,

we will have wished we had been practicing.

A warrior does not fear another,

she does not fear death.

She is fearless.

And when she knows,

she walks upright and

she knows

I don’t need anybody. 

And a smile and compliment from

an angelic being, or a pretty young girl

who says

I like your hair

might be the best thing that she has ever heard.

We are all of us starstuff that orbit a

gaping black hole,

a vortex of destruction,

waiting to rip us to pieces.

Only we are microcosms,

unto our selves~ destructive.

And seduced

by the femme fatale,

the cosmic maiden

demanding our demise,

catalyzing destruction,

throwing ourselves into the cauldron of creation,

to be ripped apart and

put together again.

Humpty Dumpty could not do it.

Is it still possible for me?

Can I ride her magic fires?

And we hope…

maybe this will be the last time,

maybe we will remember that we are warriors,

maybe the hole can be filled in,

maybe something can grow there.

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