Tomorrow

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t has never been the same,
but still we have fallen into
our comforts, taken to the belief
that things get better, that
there is a sheen on the horizon,
which is always, deliciously, ahead,
and if we stopped here, maybe,
in the playground of our versed hopes
and our deepest wisdom,
our steps would graze the ground
lighter, a golden future we’d make
from the firm beingness of now.
But what of the other side,
the way we turn to the past,
not with our bare feet on holy ground,
but with our eyes turned inward,
fixed on an object that never, really, is?
The happy-laced, the moments receding,
buried so in a fortress of our love and
desire, that it changes colours, hardens
and turns without our ever knowing,
and we intuit that we must leave
them where they are, but
we build altars and shrines
around them, with our tenderness
but also our fear, for we know
that in their unveiling, there would
be a disappearance, and a shudder
would pass through us, like lightning,
as though nothing remained, as
though we were not here, blood
and bone and hope on sacred
ground, still moving toward
the beckoning hues of tomorrow.
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Joy Now

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And once we round the bend?
Once all that the horizon is ours?
 
Is there something waiting there
grander than the vast open road
 
with its trees glinting in the sun
stone structures mounted for gods
 
Mountains just off to the side
ready to cushion your dreams
 
The clouds, too, shifting shape
always waiting to tell you a story?
 
May we not wait for what comes
but bring joy to everything we meet. – TS

Path to Light

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Notice how the eye
reaches first for the light,
how the heart sings
into the great distances
beyond, into the joy
that brightens our horizons.
Then, after resting
in ecstatic wonder,
now in repose,
the shadows come to view,
slowly, not before we
are ready, and we
do not succumb
to the darkness.
No, now we notice
how the shadows frame
our view, how they
pose no obstacle,
how they sift through
our consciousness,
soft tendrils of our
pained memories,
and how they give us
our path to light. – TS

The Road is Long.

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The garden will always grow,
alive things will follow
the only path they know,
and continue to live and breathe,
To come and go.
So it is that we arrive
to our own time for loving
to feed the garden
growing inside,
a glory of
tangled mess
and shaky ascent
that is always singing
our own perfect song.
The road is bent
the road is long,
and there’s nowhere else
but here, with the sun
setting for now on
our blazing horizon. -TS