when all had been said, when all had been done . . .

.

.

.

In The Wake,  of Devotion

 ( Widows Walk )

.

.

She looks,  out across the Millennia,  out across an endless path of winter,  in the hope of finding one Day’s respite from sorrow,  worn,  as She wears Her faith,  with the courage of Titans . . .

and deep within Her Heart,  lies Patience,  hiding from the folly of men . . . for they would steal from Her,  all they can never understand,  and they would bury Her,  under all they can never know . . .

and She will carry Her burden through the Ages,  as She,  as Always,  has done,  without the comfort of Solace,  without the shelter of Kindness . . . for in this She stands alone,  listening to The Ring of Truth,  telling Her of all that might have been . . .

and slowly,  She turns toward Yesterday,  and smiles,  as Her Children of The Clouds gather before Her,  to bathe within Her Abundance . . . and Her Eyes catch a glimpse of Wisdom,  as She lays upon Her twilight Path,  from Her Basket of Knowledge,  the Tears that became Stars,  long ago . . .

and in the time of a Wink and a Promise,  She forgives all that came before,  as She walks beside Remember,  there along The River of Souls . . . and in the distance,  drifting in the swells that would soon make quiet thunder upon Her Shore,  anchored to a beachhead of impossible Moments yet to come,  stands Fate,  bound to the deck of a Ship,  called Evemore . . .

.

*      *      *

.

and there,  across a Sea of Glass,  walks The Reason Why . . .

.

.

.

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while under an august Moon

 

 

 

The Origins, of Kindness

( what Always, said, to Ever, when Ever, said, GoodBye )

.

.

Flamei
go, My Darling, and do what U must do,

and I will never, think the Less of U,

and whereEver U may wander,

and whereEver U may fly,

take My Light to guide

U, so that Wonder

      paints, Your Sky . . .

and to savor This,

of Our Last Kiss, as

each Morning gives Promise

to The Day, remember Always, that I

     love U, and as Always, My Love will light, The Way . . .

 

.

.

and their days are long savored, and abundant

.

.

.

The Wishing,  Well

(  for Kindness’ Sake, and Promises to keep  )

 

 

that this Flock of Grace,  finds Love,  Again,

      and all the dignity that Innocence deserves . . .

.

.

.

.

Miss May, Miss Peach, Miss Grey, Miss Toffee, Miss Top Hat, Sir Galahad, Miss Lily, Miss Mona, Miss Samantha, Mr. Hershey, Snowflake, Mouseketeer, Meeka, Fang, Rusty, Leo, Tiny Tim, Squeaker, the Quintuplets, Felix, Miss Muffet, the Triplets, Patrick, Lucy, Snowball, Frank, Blake, Charlie, Cally, Coach, Angie, Grayman, Bergen, Brigit, Smokey, Little Red, Humphrey, Hyena, Miss Shadow, Miss Smokey, Miss Paige, Zoe, Precious, Mr. Hope, Mr. Faith, Munchkin, Amelia, Winkin’, Blinkin’, Nod, and Solo

.

.

.

.

and beyond the reach of Kings

.

.

.

A River of Stars

 (  in Mercy’s Hand,  when unfurled  )

  

 

if I could offer up a simple ray of Kindness,  to move as liquid,  down upon a small but significant corner of my world,  down upon this flock of Grace,  whether for a single bright moment,  or a myriad, and from this there would emerge,  so soft and slow,  an undeniable resonance of its whispered flow,  an echo,  and it radiates,  outward,  toward the frontiers of Oblivion,  leading the way to a place where Angels have long feared to walk,  at the very core of a time called Never,  and in whose withered embrace stands the fading image of Chaos,  on its knees,  and looking out across a dominion once bent to its will,  and to its whim,  a dominion now bathed in the everlasting Light of Love,  and all borne upon the very Smile,  of Always . . .

.

.

.

.

from this Moment, on

.

.

.

in The Shelters,  of Kindness

(  behold this Flock,  of Grace  )

 

They arrive,  from anywhere,  without name or number,  rescued,  recovered,  or reclaimed from often desperate or destitute surroundings,  circumstances,  or abuse,  or from being ‘tagged’ for an early and unmarked grave within a system or society so overwhelmed with mismanaged or misguided intentions,  doled out with all but enough compassion,  concern,  or common sense,  that sympathetic and lasting remedies or resolutions are only found in the all-too-rare instances of extreme generosity,  perseverance,  and understanding,  and of course,  kindness . . .

Their ‘crimes’ against human sensibilities are those that only become obvious when they are cast out from among the ‘beloved’,  who are no longer able or allowed a chance to exist within a sanctuary offering those simple and precious acts of benevolence we ourselves could not live without . . . somehow surviving without a smile,  a touch,  a softly-spoken word,  or sustenance,  a roof over their heads,  a safe haven to call their own,  or just the warmth that radiates from the nearness of friends,  family,  or loved ones . . . the very air they breathe only echoes with the whispers of their abandon,  for they have found themselves no longer welcome or wanted,  by a world no longer listening to or well beyond caring for,  these once kindred spirits and companions . . .

Yet,  they were born in innocence,  and therefore with just as much right,  perhaps even a divine blessing,  to be called or regarded as God’s Children as are their human counterparts,  and are just as or even more deserving of our compassion or largesse than what defines our civic or social obligations,  or what we,  by statute,   bestow upon some of our own outcasts and misfits . . . by the sheer vagaries of fate or misfortune,  and the crush or cruelty that comes from having no other choice or defense against it,  is that the only promises in life they are guaranteed to know or have fulfilled,  are unending hunger,  and bone-deep loneliness,  for all the rest of their days . . . unless . . .

My sincerest hope,  and yes certainly the wish of every soul born into this world to ever witness or to wonder of this heart-rending travesty,  is that I can try to ‘lift them up’,  to ease the burden of their sorrows or hardship from their shoulders,  to give back to them what they have so selflessly brought into this heart of mine,  and if at all possible,  to begin to mend theirs . . . to listen to their stories,  to be their voice for as long as it takes for them to be heard,  or at least until they are lucky enough to find a new home,  and become significant and dear to others,  and in turn hold them as dear,  to live within the absence of fear,  and to one day re-emerge within the purpose God gave them,  to really matter in this world just enough,  to find and give love,  again . . .

And yes to thank them,  for being who and what they are,  and for bringing the reason ‘why’ back into my life,  and for allowing me a chance to really understand the true meaning of the word ‘humanity’ . . . which,  after all,  is exactly the reason why God adorned this earth with their presence,  and their purpose,  in the first place . . . because in their aspects,  we will always see grace . . . and in their eyes,  we will forever see,  ourselves . . .

.

.

.

.

in the cataclysm, of silence

 

 

all that remains,  of a once grand and glorious Because,  now lies hidden in the dust and detritus of a thousand kingdoms and empires come and gone,  buried deep in the wells of our wishes and wistful sighs of what might have been,  the scattered shards of our dreams and desires strewn heedlessly beneath the timeless advance of ideals and ideologies long forgotten,  and those not deserving of remembrance . . . we have built monuments and monoliths to honor that which holds no honor beyond the fleeting adoration of the moment,  while holding hostage the very futures of our children,  in exchange for the paltry ransoms of our immediate gratification . . . we have edificed soaring and gilt-splendored temples to our gods,  that rest upon a billion bones of the unredeemed and unworthy,  as we kneel before the machinery of our faith,  that we might find salvation in the very promise of our ingenuity,  while compassion,  love,  and kindness slowly fade from the pages of our story,  because tomorrow bears no witness,  in the mirror,  of our once upon a time . . .

 

 

 

from ZanaDew Falls,  Seen VIII:  The Time before Until

 

 

 

and standing, among Giants

 

 

 

The Eve,  of Deliverance

(  Tatia’s Dream  )

 

  

i

and Now,  a tumultuous Year is nigh coming to a close,

one that held many Chances and CircumStances,

some Within,  some Without,  and some,

     so very far Beyond,  Our Control . . .

We are left to reassemble or rebuild Each of

the Pieces of Our Lives that best mirror The Pattern,

      or The Purpose,  of The Plan,  and Our Place,  within It All . . .

some of Us face Tasks or Trials that challenge,  while Others,

face the same Troubles,   with nary a Blink of an Eye . . . and still,

      there are Those that never even bother to notice The Light of Day . . .

through it All,  there are Those,  that meet what is dealt to Them

with extraordinary Courage,  unextinguishable Hope,  while

      teaching All of Us,  exactly what Faith,  is All about . . .

      They,  lead Us,  by Example . . .

      They,  honor Us,  with Kindness . . .

      They,  shelter Us,  with Foregiveness . . .

They,  Always reveal to Us,  The Very Meaning of Life,  and how to live It,  and how to cherish Every

      Moment of Every Day,  with a Spirit borne of knowing of just how precious,  Every Moment,  can be . . .

 

 

 

from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light) The Twelfth DoveTale – The Passion of Innocence

 

written to,  and for,  some very dear Friends,  on December 24th,  2002