people like to tell us
to be satisfied when we are not,
and not to be satisfied when we are,
because
people like to tell us
what to do.
but hunger,
thirst,
yearning,
and desire
are all there
to tell us
we are missing
something.
never come back early from searching
until you’ve completed
your finding
© Andriy Bezuglov | Dreamstime.com – Brunette on old stair
We seek approval constantly
In everything we do:
We craft our image carefully
In hopes it will come true
We stare at phones, at windowpanes,
And sometimes, our reflections,
For every life’s a walk towards death
In search of
Resurrections
We seek, because we hope to find
A gallery among the blind;
A bit of hope, a bit of rouge,
A plot behind the subterfuge —
The soft or strong, the give or take,
The love we speak that then we make
In choruses of two, entwined —
We seek, because we hope
To find
Dark is this strange, untamed desire,
Making her restless as the sea;
Flaring into bits of flame and fire,
Burning the edge of her tapestry —
Wind on the beaches, rolling waves,
Voice of a love she’s yet to feel:
Dark is this strange, untamed desire,
Fantasy hopes, more felt
Than real
We seek, at times, we-know-not-what,
Empowered by our yearning;
A season’s born and dies away,
The restless earth keeps turning
We scan, we search, expectantly,
Just hoping that we’ll see it —
The future that we long for, maybe
We were meant
To be it
loving hearts go silent, missing,
seeking colors bright and kissing,
melted paths escaping sorrow,
blurring into some tomorrow
we once dreamed of, yesterday —
ere we gave our hearts
away
The truth is this: our wishes and our dreams
Tell more about us than appearances.
What truly is, ensconced behind what seems:
The barriers, the interferences
That come from doing all our everyday
Must-dos, that hide away our woulds and wills,
The nose to wipe, the one-more bill to pay,
The moving shadows stored online as stills,
That though they maybe colorful to see
Are more about what isn’t there than not.
The yearning humans, viewed complacently,
For what they do to just keep what they’ve got.
Appearance, less a window than a door,
For all of us, who know, inside, there’s more
Tell me I can walk the fields,
Call me home to golden grain;
Let the Winter pass away,
Take from me this grief and pain
Close my eyes and heal my heart,
In renewal of the day:
Call me home to golden grain,
Let the Winter pass
Away
I long to span the distant way,
To speed along the river;
The chase to catch the winter sun,
The secret Baltic shiver
I long to find the meaning in
The northern lights and cold —
And speed along the river, ere
The sky has lost
Its gold
