Tag Archives: inspiration

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The Art of Words

by Liam

Let me learn this art of words, I say,

To shape the sounds that linger in the air,

To sculpt the dawn from dreams in which we play,

And weave the truth these willing hands can bear.

For language is a lantern in the night,

A bright spark shining when the paths depart;

It warms the cold, restores my fading sight,

And carries mystery from the deepest part.

Which—tumble humble from my heart—they all,

Like scattered petals drifting in the breeze;

Yet still they rise to answer some faint call

And settle softly where another sees.

So grant my voice, that gentle souls may hear

The blossom of this art made bright and clear.

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The Embrace 

by Liam

In a quiet moment, my love met me there,

The wine’s red stain upon her lips,

Her ruby lockets curl with graceful care,

Now deep into my eyes her gaze now slips.

Her embrace transforms my very face to hers,

So we touch not with bodies, but with sighs,

In that kiss, the world around us blurs,

And all we share is in our eyes.

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The Song of Silence 

by Liam

In a hundred different ways, silence speaks in its own language

Only you can understand that tongue. 

What we hear is more beautiful than poetry

More eloquent than these words I write.

It is the hush where souls meet,

The quiet doorstep where we recognize one another,

As if the long road turned here

This meeting 

The end and beginning.

And so, I come home,

Not to a place, but to the shelter of your being,

Where silence blossoms into belonging,

And every new arrival is already complete.

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My Love Rose

by Liam

I have whispered to a rose with petals red,

Within lies an image of your face concealed;

Each blossom a memory of the grace by which you thread,

The sweet perfume of your story thus revealed.

The bud in a bouquet, rough with thorns in place,

Yet you remain unharmed by their cruel art;

Reach I to free you from their sharp embrace,

With a gentle grasp, yet will I win your heart?

Place I now the rose, soft upon this pillow fair,

Where magic dwells and gentle dreams entwine;

Your presence scents the hush of starlit air,

And makes my mortal heart beat more like thine.

Oh red rose, whose beauty sings your name,

In you, my love finds pleasure and its flame.

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The Flux

by Liam

Do not be deceived by the word, ending

for what you call an end,

is but the shy opening of another door.

All things move in their own rhythm,

each life is a current of becoming, of growth,

each moment a threshold

where the unseen strives to find form.

Your past is never lost

it lingers, ringing as a faithful echo,

a mirror of the self you too once carried.

But memory is not a cage,

it is a root, quietly fertilizing 

the soil of your tomorrow.

Let your  patience soften joyfully into the flow of change,

Thereby shaping  with tenderness

the mighty clay of your becoming.

And when all the familiar falls away,

cling not to its absence which is surpassed,

but trust the shining horizon

already rising within you.

For nothing truly concludes.

Its from the silence,

new language is being born. 

Each new letter a eulogy 

to yourself.

The end, is but a beginning,

And us, forever in flux,

are eternal pilgrims of 

arrival.

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A Rhythm to Stillness 

by Liam

May the sheen of each early light,

gather gentle around your heart.

May the slow breath of this day,

steady the trembling of your life.

Here within the shelter of stillness,

you will again feel,

the ancient rhythm of your own soul.

Music older than words,

calling to guide you home.

May quietude wash the dust from your sight.

May the living ground beneath your step,

remind you of a grace that holds all things.

And when you venture once more

into the wilderness of the world,

may you carry calm, like a hidden spring,

nourishing 

every word,

every gesture,

every breath.

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Consider

by Liam

Should we consider,

It is the knowledge of the enquirer

to become nothing — and then peace within will reveal everything.

For yourself, this is the eloquence of the answer:

those pieces of your past

will become the peace you seek.

Wait, for time is not the ticking of the clock,

Instead the hand that turns the question’s lock.

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Individuation

by Liam

Ive walked a path coiling like a serpent,

through shadowed groves and sudden light,

With each step, echoed a name

I once thought was me.

The masks I wore, were 

polished for strangers,

and beneath them 

a thousand unspoken selves

begin to mumble .

Dreams spoken in riddles,

their tongues woven with moonlight and bone.

Opaque symbols risen from the depths 

the wise old one,

the wild child,

the dark twin.

I do not banish them.

I invite them into my eyes

Into a house, my heart

built from reconciliations,

each room a meeting place

where my shadow meets light & clasps hands.

Sovereign 

at the far edge of this inner continent,

I recognize 

it was never about becoming someone new,

but remembering

who stands looking me all along.

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Beyondfullness

—Liam, January 2019 

You are eternity and starlight,

Clothed in the dust of cosmic creation—

Tomorrow, is stirring in your mind,

Reaching out to love’s own heartbeat.

Its rhythm,

Tick tock, tick tock—

Beats against the clock of limitations,

Yet opens the door to flow:

A still becoming,

A mindful now.

Beyond.

We meet amongst the vastness—

In a universal, embrace—

Where self dissolves

And something greater breathes through us.

Here,

In the quiet of what always was,

We recognize:

Stillness.

Oneness.

Fullness.

to

Beyondfullness.

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Fire Meets the Rain

by Liam

There is a place my soul remembers,

not with words,

but with the ringing between thunder and lightning,

where sadness once burned

a wound through my heart.

There, vengeance came first not as rage,

but as the slow agony of grief

that had no name

and I had no hand to touch it tenderly.

It carved those names into stone,

dreamt over justice with a clenched jaw,

sought the screams before silence,

blood for my unspeakable wound.

But oh, best beloved

even flame consumes its fury.

That ash longs for the wind

to lift it from the ground.

It is here the inner song begins,

soft as lark-song breaking morning frost.

Forgiveness does not forget the hurt, no

it remembers more wholly,

More vividly than with a blade.

Love is not the opposite of death, no

it is the hand holding the skull

and singing it’s soul home.

It is the courage to unbind

my own clenched fist,

Inhale the very air

that once held your enemy’s breath.

Joy does not deny the grave.

but places a flower on that stone,

not to mock the mourning

but to speak

of something still more durable

than loss.

So when the old cry returns…..

for revenge, or for reckoning,

let it find you not unprepared,

but full of this strange kindness 

grown where only pain could have come from.

And may your soul dance

In wide fields at dusk,

where fire meets the rain,

and no wind

is turned away

We will fall to dust, no sorrow and no stain,

and root our peace in the quiet morning rain.