Thingz
The Looking Glass Rabbit
Open the doors it's been a long time coming.
What a grand day to see through windows.
I would stare into the pane,
As if a glass that the world would not let me into.
I feel like Alice through a world of confusion.
Like a cloud it covers my mind.
But it was I the scared little rabbit afraid to come out.
The world is much too large and I feel the tug of the Queen of Hearts.
In the ritual of service I meet my needs.
I'd paint the roses every day.
I could walk into the garden and face my fears.
The Cheshire grin helps me to laugh at the absurdity of life.
I would dream and drift.
The smell of daises come and gives me song.
I'd face any rose a day, to have the song of my heart.
Which brings me back to the reminder that we all grow up.
The caterpillars are still out there gnawing at our shrubs.
So best hurry, be vigilant, be wise, and don't chase the rabbit!
You may find yourself in a deeper hole than you can get out of.
I am glad I had many doors in my life.
They would lead em to the uniqueness of the human condition.
All those souls out there looking for peace,
The chance to be on the other side.
Just once upon a time.
The glass is but a fragment of itself.
I would rather be whole, just looking in.
I know that I will paint the roses tomorrow,
And pretend they were daisies.
But of you see a rabbit running down a hole, watch out!
Don't chase it.
But if you do it's ok.
I dream too.
The Face Of Things Not Forgotten
Under the single oak she sat. The old woman clad in leather and simple beads. All was still, but for the sound of the stone tapping. Meticulously grinding the stone into the circular curves of the boulder. There she would prepare the meal for the day.
The old man was wise and had many feathers, weathered by time the lines on his face showed the reminder of many roads traveled. As he dipped his fingers into the pigment, he wrote his story on the wall of the rock. These were images of life that would last through the ages.
The sun was low in the sky. Its ray lit the rock etching across the story like a finger being told a tale. But I couldn't understand the words, only felt it's meaning. I looked facing the past standing in the present. This was the story that had to be told.
The centuries of people all standing in the same spot I am, in another time. I have seen just a glimpse of who they are. Truly they are ancestors of man, the Native Americans. As I find myself standing on the same road, I would call myself as a modern day native of the desert. Such challenges of the past are not ours. But all the same, we have our trials.
Though we have conveniences the longing for understanding sets us to seek out the bond between man and earth. That may just be a path to peace and harmony. It is the infinite part of ourselves, which gives us the spirit of man and the love for the land. The need to have nature about us is real. It is part of us that can't be taken away.
So from time to time I would set my tent up, roast my food and sleep among the stars. There I would dream of writings in the sand and find a way along the road for my waking hours. And remember that old woman, the old man, and the stone. I would write it on the pages of history waiting to happen. My story.
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