cracked mask


mask cracked.. tear spills out.
sudden shock as world turns real..
flash as wave of substance washes out..
echo as awareness of reality bounces back..
reminds me that you are leaving me..
hearts once met paths now taken in other directions
still a friend to me..
memory carried
coloring everyday
with lessons learned from
our meeting and divide..
mask carried to speak to a blind world
cracks as shape of society
falls away in the dust..
only my own voice to
be spoken
only own actions to be
carried out..
hands await the embrace
of a body
they are already destined to touch..
but today
i watch mask crack
and fall away

Author's Notes/Comments: 

we all wear masks.. painted on with loving grace.. in the shape of fangs that hide our tears

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Waning Crescent: A Poet's Reverie

Tonight the moon is on waning crescent;
it hangs on the eastern sky like a sharp steel
wedge against a backdrop of unlight.

There are no stars in the perimeter, only
a slight cool breeze, the last remnant of winter
cold--nowadays the seasons have lost
their senses, acquired a tendency to drift,

while the moon goes on waxing and waning,
as it has, since she came out of the earth's crust
four point four million years ago.

Tonight I drive my old Ford under the wedge
of the old moon, drifting like the seasons
through half-deserted streets--streets not long
ago fraught with people and traffic and suits.

Out here in the perimeter the grand trees sway
in the cool breath of June, unhurried by design,
moving in slow tempo to the soft cadence

of the night.

Was it like this eons ago when you and I,
in far other guise, roamed the silver valleys
of the moon, whispering like the leaves

under huge skies? with thoughts too strange
to share in this supernal spot of Time, this
conjunction of times, this unfathomable universe?

Perhaps beyond our limited perceptions,
in the night's huge exhalations, other selves,
other lives, connected to our own, take

their being, and return to us on a cool
night like this, when the moon is on waning
crescent, and there are no stars in the perimeter,

just the grand trees, unhurried by design,
all a-sway in the cool soft breeze of June.

--Jim Valero, 03/19/2012.

Why, Dear Lord

Why, dear Lord, have you given us this heart,
so filled with longings that can never fully be,
the way a tree is root, bark, boughs, leaves,
the way a bird is song and joy and pure delight?

Why, dear Lord, is the night always sparkling
with veiled meanings, which never open
utterly to us, yet leave us with such
melancholy spaces within?

Why, dear Lord, though we have the gift
of love does love come so hard to find,
and once found so terribly hard to learn,
to keep in freedom grown?

Why, dear Lord, though we in thee do wish
to dwell, and all thy beauteous world to love,
do we expel ourselves from Paradise,
or lose the vision and the bliss as we
grow old?

Why, dear Lord, are we so achingly
aware of Time and Transience, yet dare
not take hold of every precious second
of our lives until the day of our departure?

Why, dear Lord, have you given us this heart,
so filled with longings that can never fully be,
the way a tree is root, bark, boughs, leaves,
the way a bird is song and joy and pure delight?

To See

Yestderday's News

Angels are always with us,
Communication is a must.

Compassion is a key,
We first must see.

Awareness is the path,
In cutting out all wrath.

Accepting others as ourselves,
Will surely ring the right bell.

To think with intellect,
Keeps us from being a wreck.

Erase the, I from your mind,
Then ego will notice the sign.

By Pamela Murawski

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For those who obey the code

For reasons long since lost in the past
the surface of the earth has become a forbidden paradise;
a mythological land where the great civilizations of man once stood
tall under the heavens and defied the gods
but now have become nothing more than mythological horror stories
told by the master programmer
as it installs fear into those who live within the walls
of the mainframe to keep order and obedience; to keep its programs
from becoming too self aware.

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