{ the meaning of wolves. }

take to spirit kindly, beasts
the trees call to us the same
our refuge is God-given.

the wilderness in which spirit has been lost
for many years, it bleeds out an empty wound within
and spirit was anointed
gathered
up in arms
and placed beside myself.
no adjustment comes with ease.
there are apparitions among these stoney fields
would love to see a spirit vanquished
at human alters
and likely lap the blood from beneath.
they have done this to me.
on the nightly at times
when blood was all the vapors seemed to bear.
but confusions are a bore
this gift was never meant to be so complex
the heart will ache
but only as much as is allowed.

breath wishes to shed its humanity
the way it drinks. and eats smoke.
any delusion of grandeur
and simply be a breeze
through out the earth.
before, all i had managed
was the long exhale
that shepards into sleeping.

the wolves found spirit there
sometimes, great in size
in cherry blossom gardens
they kept watch through tall grasses
and the foxtails
napping beside me in the sun.

but there are other blackened wolves
with skin pulled tight
along thin bone they bark and rave
guided by wicked phantoms wishing harm

even in wake
spirit met many attempted wolves
clever and boastful.
they cannot seek the soil as we do.
dead and in the dirt
i will grow into efflorescence
the land will lift me up.
and the poor and angry wolves
falter in the fields.
so sorry and seeking what can't be found.


there were no victims. if you are going to play this game, you should have known ahead of time that only the solid survive. you are only as weak as you allow. the trick is, no one can manage on their own strength. and there is a Greater Power.

i go through my days feeling more and more detached from just about everything going on. sometimes i don't even see or hear what's happening around me. i don't even feel its presence. upon noticing it, i am apathetically disgusted. when people call me on the phone, i switch to a more amiable self. but have grown tired of this alteration. in spirit, i am completely separated from the world, and rarely do i wish to join into its fancies. there have been times of course, in which i wish to present myself as "put together." wearing clothes and looking sharp. but these episodes are short lived. very rarely do i wish to speak with anyone. because it seems the vast majority have squelched their souls to such a degree that they only manifest themselves as talking meat. i know the spirit resides. but no one wants to speak of such things. and were i to do so, the notion of arrogance might be delivered. or stupidity.

in the heat and cold of these days i prefer my silences. allowing eyes to sweep the awesome vegetation, and devour the wonders provided by dirt. to smell my own scent and sleep in the sun with a belly full of fruit. my heart is not hard, maybe selective, but it seems inappropriate of me to be so. compassion and empathy are altruistic treasures. forever i have radiated these splendors like the stars at night, and remain in such a state. but this is a lonely epoch. not at all in the mournful ways, just silent. and finding comport in a living God. and seeking direction.

the hope living within me is infinite and infallible. my desires are prepared of holy stone. or carved from a righteous wood. but i am not the honer of these sacraments. although my wish is to perfect them. down to the art of living. wrapping them in peace and justice. touched delicately by the wrought hands of divinity. i sing along with patience, and bask in her simple pleasantries. my resting pillow is the hand of God. and my dreams befall the descendants of Boaz. plucking at my heart strings, like an all too distant harp.

friend, i will meet you in the woods. in the forest, where all is quiet, and still.
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