Attaching wings to the fallen bird
Depravity of one’s true nature
Divided fowl’s appendage further segregated sun
hearts splitting in two — body and carnage remain
Source essence forgotten — reaching distance bemoaned
wings of hope fly directional opposition
Wrapping promise across planetary circles
body of greed remains seeking more power that is
Across the Behring Straight or by Eastern Sea
landing with hopes of bodies uniting
Further division of left and right feathery breeze
rotting corpses and altruistic bodies sharing flight once prophesied
Benevolent are they — carrying carnage of ancient tongue
lost, broken, weak are they — not yet awoken
Rise, my feathery friends — united are we
flying together uniting one body — one family.
Empty are the bellies birthing peace and tranquility
evil seeking asylum in Mother’s bosom.
One heart ripped in two
two hearts beating as one
Once torn from the tribal council
uniting in the streets — sparing voice
Fighting over first nations unimportant
concerted front-end loaders are pouring love across the fields
Conflict amongst ourselves, varying stories of right and wrong, beginning and end, creation or evolution. What if we are all correct in saying these things? What if our realities are all true? Pain and destruction, Love and peaceful valleys — all true!
There was a time we were one, further dividing through the passing of times, consuming flesh and body — devouring our tails without ever knowing the infinite cyclical behavior self-inflicted upon ourselves.
Yonder, passing vibrational tune onto the next generational song, screeching and sounding absurdly childish — scolded for biting brother’s hand that once fed us.
Enough!
Return home, whence you came, before beginning was The Beginning. From beginning to end, we are that ouroboros absorbing self-realizing truths of yesteryear, emesis, and regurgitating source not labeled by man.
Unable to swallow once begotten, uncomprehending decapitating foretelling of heart’s all-knowing, submitting to an omnipotent source far beyond space itself, we are becoming. Hand’s once cut — my father’s son, now holding warmly to brothers and sisters sun.
~Ani Po
From the original Friday the 13th, where the Knight’s Templar were ordered executed, by King Philip, in October of 1307, to The Bloody Sunday led by Lenin, to modern day fighting amongst ourselves — brothers and sisters are we. Turned against one another, fighting over our story-lines as to who’s carries more validity.
I pondered all of the wars between man, then the first nations arrival to the Americas. Uncertain to the origin with varied stories, I envisioned the First peoples arriving from the east and west, as to embrace the whole planet in unity. From the right and left with great wings of hope as one body — they are still here, holding the sacred flame.
My heart aches for humanity
Continuing to pluck the wings from source and body of what was, how can we expect to fly in harmony? Unity of self and collective whole — we shall return.
Not knowing where this was taking me, allowing it free reign over the keyboard. Thank you Ravyne Hawke for allowing me to share these words, thank you for holding this space.
Previous story which led into this piece…
Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.
