feather heart

forever is nothing
the drips and drops
follow and fall
forever is nothing
there is you
and my heart
too tender and new
shedding the skin
releasing the leaves
it can hold the old
it can hold the tired
but new

i think we were flowers once
swaying
and smiling
taking in the truth as it comes
i think we were flowers once
me and you
equilibrium
and balance
forever is nothing
there's just flowers

my heart is feathers
and i want the wind
to come and carry
my sun
to yours

and for me
new is new

..

the last poem:
Shiva's dance


i keep using the word "last"
the last time
the last second
the last thought
the last lie
the very last
no the very last, really
no the last after last
no the lastest
a barren echo
and all i know is
it has no meaning
it almost mocks me
my impotent declaration
any strength it once held
now drips out like oil
constant
i stop
and all i see is
sometimes "last" will not exist
i read you my last poems
you didn't know i write
and you liked them
and you laughed
listened
it didn't make them better
it created another poem entirely

do you write poems
Shiva


unrelenting fireworks
of the past present future
all changing
and shifting face
replacing my neurons
my truth is not my truth
it stands as a stranger
my truth is just as true as the word "last"


sometimes i actually feel
like I really am Shiva
dancing
annihilation in one eye
and birth
in the other


i mean
nothing has changed.
apart from
everything that once was, is no longer
polarities shaking hands
they seem amused


and this is where the first summer sunrises
find
me
as unravelled
as i am whole


Shiva
how do you still dance
...

power

Language is power, and language is sex and seduction.
It's sensual and mysterious, and crystal clear.
Language is intelligence, and keys to locked doors.
And language is the road, and the heritage and the trail back.

Language is age and era, language is decadence.
Language is full, it's dry, and true and false.
Language is rich and poor, it's blood, sweat and magic.

Master language and you'll master magic.

Yours truly.
M.


From a poem by Jeffrey McDaniel.