Bamboozled

It’s likely
You’ve been bamboozled,
though it’s likely
the con artists
were well-intentioned.

They imagined You
to be a
blank canvas,

yearning to be
painted upon,

the galleries of
Your mind
and heart
hung with canvases
brushed with
the strokes of
others skilled for
such purposes.

If they,
and later,
You,
chose wisely,
perhaps the
inner galleries
are filled
with masterpieces,

especially if You
dedicated the fruits of
Your own work
to the hiring of
Masters.

But now You’ve
grown weary of
searching for Masters,
perhaps Your pockets
are empty.

What if You
dreamed
that You awakened,

and Your hands
were alive with
a Master’s touch,

that was there
all along,
waiting for You to
feel it?

Now You can paint
Your Masterpiece,

even if You’ve only
a handful of days
left to do it.

Wake up!
You’ve always been
the Master
You were
looking for.

(Photo by Filippo Andolfatto; UnSplash)

 

Dazzled

Standing in line
at the pharmacy,
my jaw slack,
poised to drop
any moment

at the beauty of
the moving gallery of
faces drifting by

in auras of
The Maker’s Art,
with beautiful brows and
curious eyes and a
photo gallery of
the angled variety of
noses and
an exhibition of
mouths and chins
that would grace
the ceiling of
a chapel.

And the gorgeous
wrinkles!

Sculpted by
an artist with
a commission from
The Divine.

I’m sorry if
You caught Me
staring at You,

but I shouldn’t be
apologizing
for being
dazzled by
Your Light.

(Photo by Bahram Bayat; UnSplash)

 

Multiple Personality Disorder

You may be
suffering from
undiagnosed
Multiple Personality Disorder.

The Hands of Light
that crafted You
were skilled in
the Arts of
unrestrained,
over-the-top,
delight-drunk Love.

You are formed of
flawless Soul,
ignited by a
pilot light of
brilliant adoration,
then dipped
in a fountain of
luminescent desire for
eye-popping adventure.

But,
by divine design,
You are coated
with Earth,
to make Your re-entry
to the Planet
without
spontaneous
combustion.

Then, somewhere
along the Path
You’ve been
dutifully hiking,

You’ve forgotten
that You’re formed of
jeweled lightning,
captured for just
a moment
in dust and rust and
occasional
sorrow.

But that’s not
the You that is
You.

Don’t turn from
the intruder,
embrace Them,
hold Them
close and dear.

They crave
Your touch.
Wrap Them in
laughter at
the Lie
that You’ve
ever been
more than
One.

 

Altered State

Do this for Me.
Please.
Get your phone,
jack in the earpods,
find a playlist
of whatever
wraps light
around your
beating heart.

Now crank it.
Trust Me.
Your ears can
take it.
Just for awhile.

Now walk
wherever Your
happy feet are
the happiest,
wherever You are
flung into an
altered state

that drips tears
from Your eyes
that honeybees
and hummingbirds
would hover
in line
for hours
to taste.

If You’re game,
try a couple of
walking dance moves,
Saturday Night Fever
on whatever
day of the week
this is.

That’s how the
Love
that tied Your
cells together
feels when They
feast Their eyes
on You.

(Photo by Ahmad Odeh; UnSplash)