In the missing

It is in the missing that I find you,
in that place of absence, the shape
of loss, the void which remains
when you are not here, which holds

to itself, your form and substance,
moulded into my very being, drawn
finely with the hand of love, ensured
in firm presence of remembering -

that place which holds the truth, not
so much of who you are, but of who
I am, in ways which do not exist for
any other person I have ever known,

born deep in mutual liking, enduring
passion, connectedness through many
years and eternal moments, enduring:
it is in the missing that I find you.

Unity

Unity curls beckoning finger,
summoning psyche to attend,
requiring that Self and Soul
be joined, as one, and where

the many can be made as
one, united in that universe,
of human nature, that sure
reflection of consciousness

made manifest in the unique
and the particular, of many
worlds joined in circling
certainty, turning star-like

around and around in the
galaxy of eternal creation,
where the wonder and the
beauty of you and me is

drawn into meaningful
and purposeful, expression
of particularity and the
personal; from the source.

https://dversepoets.com/2017/09/21/open-link-night-204/

 

Questions

Is this world exactly as we see it,
or is it as we think it should be,
and in the doing, make it manifest
in ways beyond our imagining?

Is there such a thing as sound if
there is no ear to hear it, or is what
we call sound, no more than invisible
waves, rolling out from circumstance?

Is love real in the ways that we believe,
or, is it a need, desire, determination
to connect, hardwired into us before
we are born and in need of a name?

Is the past a reality, formed and held
enduring, in some unseen place, beyond
our ability to know other than fragments
of that which we call memories?

Is there anything which we can claim
is absolutely real, or is all that we feel,
see, experience, no more than intangible
workings, which blink in and out of being?

Is there an answer to all of our questions,
or, just more questions, lingering in the
darkness, waiting for the light of curiosity
to shine, brightly but briefly upon them?



https://dversepoets.com/2017/09/19/the-answer-is-42/

To search

To search within the almost seen, scramble in the mind,
to rummage through the coats of past, seeking so to find,
who I am and who I was and who I still might be;
so does love draw gentle hands across eternity.

Who was I then, who am I now, and who will I become,
so do the questions roll and taunt when certainty is gone,
and who I might have been, or could, has drifted on the wind;
so do potentials reach an end, before we can begin.

That morning when I woke in fear and huddled into Self,
as dreams and deep imaginings were tumbling from the shelf,
so then I saw in scattered wreck the tramplings of my heart;
and realised, that who I was, had never played a part.

And yet it had been written, this tortured, searching path,
which led from birth and on to death, as pure and soulful art,
for in the journey to become, to know and render true;
I learned the shape of  what was me, perceived, what was called you.

https://dversepoets.com/2017/09/07/openlinknight-203/