RUNNING

A woman's body sheltered
...a child's frightened soul,
Torn between extremeties,
...young heart and yet, so old.

Once touched by love, twice by pain,
...thrice, she would not try
To let herself be touched by love
...when love had made her cry.

She spoke to me of dreams and goals
...to hide a pain within.
She almost opened up the door
...and let my love walk in.

It was pure and it was honest,
...but most of all, 'twas free.
Unbridled, undemanding
...was the love that she could see.

Perhaps that was what had frightened her,
...but I shall never know,
For she ran from all her feelings
...and in running, made me go.

I was driven one early morning before daybreak to climb into my beat-up old Toyowagon and head up into the mountains. When I arrived, I turned on the dome light, pulled out my tablet and this is one of the two pieces created that morning.

It is all about learning to listen to the voice that always guides us accurately.

I call it...

SONG OF THE FLUTE

A promise has been made to me,
...and I have faith
That a promise is to be fulfilled
...in this place.
It has been a long, hard journey,
...as it has been for you.
One person on the road to peace,
...one person seeking Truth.
One person now exploring
...one person passing by.
One person recognizing Truth
...in another person's eyes.
I can see the doubt in you,
...and it's all right.
For I know it's just remembering
...the times it wasn't right.
The mysteries that you have sought
...and thought that you had found
Turned out to be infertile seed
...cast upon the ground
......and scattered.
Now what matters
...is that you recognize the voice
That always speaks the Truth to you
...when you have a choice.
So stop one moment, if you will
...and let the voice speak out.
Let it grow in power
...until there is no doubt.
For therein lies the knowledge
...that I cannot relate.
Therein lies your answers
...and your fate.

* * * * * * *

Some time ago, my Creator chose to bless me. First in my life, making it better. Then, as I spent more time being grateful, He began to add to those gifts. The reason I apply to this is summed up in a simple phrase.

"Honor the gift, honor the Giver."

When I write something, it is only to recognize and clarify an experience I found moving in some way. Something that just might bless another soul, should I choose to share.

As I read the works of so many, I find myself amazed at how many people out there in the world are so weak in the heart they choose to use the power of their vocabulary, regardless of how it leaves the reader. Seemingly, they want to impress people with their knowledge when knowledge is completely separate from any art.

If you are genuine, this will not be the case. But I can tell by reading if someone is filled with passion or the desire to manipulate and control others.

Sad.

All I seek is to possibly bless another soul. If those of you out there that find yourself in that class of people, then I encourage you one and all to seek a greater connection to that artist that lives inside us all.

My definition of art is "Beauty as it is expressed by the touch of (wo)man." So, if what you share is not beautiful, reconstruct it but this time from the perspective of it being an art.

Those who present poetry as an art that doesn't share beauty with others is not real poetry. In fact, you are actually part of the problem that causes the average person (upon hearing you are a poet) to pull out their garlic wreathes and silver crosses!

Add to the beauty.

Add to the world something nice.

Choose beauty.

Here is one I wrote a while back, dreaming of my "Mystery Woman".

I call it...

SILENT PASSAGES

I have felt your eyes upon me.
. At night where dreamers roam.
Perhaps your just a fantasy
. of a dreamer, left alone.
But I saw you there!
. Lit up like the night.
Starting a fire in my soul,
. shining and alive.
How came you to be here?
. What path have you found?
How could you shake my world,
. what I thought was solid ground?
Perhaps you're another dreamer,
. like I, caught in space.
Perhaps you're merely imaginings
. and I don't really see your face.
But none of that really matters,
. for you, adrift upon the wind.
It's your light I truly cherish.
. Not the space you're walking in.
Vapor, cloud, smoke or air,
. you are, and I am glad
For all of the secret visions
. you have blossomed in my head.
For there you shine so brightly!
. I may never understand,
but through your silent passages,
. I can.

* * * * * * *

Thank you, Julie.

I'm going to post another here in a moment along the same line just to see how many people are touched in a good way!

Ron

by me, Ron.

AMY'S SONG

I can see your eyes,
Cradled in the ivory of your face,
And I come alive!
My body pulsing with the power of your face,
Flitting across the blankness of my memory.
That is the canvas to your brush,
and the colors of your love paint me.

Gently, your hair falls upon my anxious face,
and I breathe deep your vapor.
Thirsting with a thirst that cannon be quenched.
Aching with a hunger that only you can satisfy.

Yet I can not be sated!
For this hunger you created has left me weak,
and yet stronger than I've ever been
or could ever be
alone.

In you, I sense a majesty.
A certain grace that transcends time
and calls to me.
Across the vast expanses that forever lie around us like the blanket of the night.
Oh, come to me!
Come and end this silence!
Come, and we shall make a symphony of love that transcends time,
for I am one,

With you,

Forever.

* * * * * * *

Before I became this man of today, I was once a man who wrote every day, and many nights, much of this time spent dreaming of The One.

Since that is why at least some of us are here, I felt my sharing might help others of you feel more hopeful that "The One" is out there, just waiting for you to be ready for them.

I'll start this out by a little thing I call...

SILENT NIGHTS
by me. Ron Hatton.

Silent nights of empty dreams after days of feeling lost,
Wrapped up in the memories of what a foolish man has lost.
. My heart cries out for the freedom that is the promise of passing time
. While my eyes run dry from the river of tears that I, in my darkness, cry.

I knew you well, my angel. Since Time itself began.
I have known you since my childhood dreams. 'Twas you made me a man.
. This place you have created is yours and mine alone.
. A place where dreams do come alive, and we never walk alone.

You are the beating of my heart. Your love gives me breath.
For you, I live and dream great dreams... Though we have never met.