Passing of Morning’s Dew
Foul and Wretched Stench of Life’s sweetest Memories
Like a ton of bricks — smacked upside the head — little understanding of how another’s perceptual thought of self-centered reality humbly walked their talk. Accusations fly — entering atmospheric pressures from outer realms of far most galaxies — three possibilities for processing claim.
Head mind captures thought — spinning its web — carrying voices into canyons echoing songs. Here we remain — singing darkened disparity without clarity of knowing all there was.
Heart singing — transmuting energetic reality — giving birth to yet another new galaxy — painting another picture in the canvas of life — fleeting thoughts carried winds. Pooling ardor — tumultuous cyclonic winds — burning wildfire-like presence, are waiting to transform.
Deeper into cosmic inner realms — digesting collective belief — waiting for the passing of another sun’s foul stench passing through another town — sweet memories of who we were, rejoicing on where we sit. Rooted in ancient tongue — darkened sludge sticking a thousand voices chattering about.
The first two verses teasing realities clear — left with bug splatter on the hooded ride to nowhere in particular — car washing of excessive spattering thought externally received — processing commences one way or another — twisted turns, tunnels exiting tune.
Darkened thought enters
bringing terror and fear
Switchwords
Change of movement as such
distraction self-fleeting way
Switchwords
Happy for a second
a cyclical roller coaster of sort
Sitting quietly instead
allowing thoughts
comfortable passing
Be still
Listen, heart calls thy name
canvas empty
awaiting special touch
Paint thine heart true
filling Canvas’ void
Sing
Paint
Write
Flowing naturally as it was
what was
now is
It is so.
~Ani Po
Ray Charles speaking words of wisdom, singing to our hearts in time of darkened energies — there will be an answer — Let it Be.
This piece is a continuation of my last piece, Fleeting Thoughts, processing energies hold and awareness of such that I sit with, sing-along or allow it to pass through deeper realms.
Our ability to process the world around us either gets passed through the head mind, hearts processor clear, or a deep-rooted passing of energies — leaving a foul but sweet memory of who we are.
Would love to hear what comes to mind when reading this piece.
