by Liam
This cuvée of the mind is a sparkling wine
We sip with our eyes
We taste with our souls,
We feel with our perception
Till all is spinning into one,
Inebriation!
Give I these grapes to God in gratitude
New nourishment for my soul
We’ve discovered the hidden within the divine.
A mystery unto myself ,
I am that which I consume.
I am this which I drink.
Am I the becoming,
Oh, what do I think?
Come friends, let’s toast to this feast of universality,
To the recognition of immortality.
by Liam
Allow yourself to be a born human;
to arrive as a growing symphony of life,
a fierce flame carried forth from the dusk.
Allow yourself to become;
the living song you sing whose truths gather
in your bones,
until your very presence
is an ode to belonging.
Allow yourself to be alive:
to be drawn into the gravity of your own becoming,
to listen to the quiet music
hidden beneath your breath.
Allow yourself to trust;
that every step is held by an ancient knowledge
that remembers you.
An individual discovering the meaning of the mystery.
A soul slowly learning
the art of its own delight.
by Liam
I’ve seen the quiet tremors of your gaze,
the way your pulse outshines the afternoon,
as if your breath were woven out of days,
that learned their language from a rising moon.
You speak, and dormant gardens break their sleep;
you move, and hidden continents shift their flow.
The world shuffles in, to listen to the deep
unfolding of a light it longs to know.
What secret spark first stirred this inner fire?
What cosmic gravity drew a flame to heart?
Your presence bends reality to desire,
A flame claims, love begins to start.
In your heart the sun is an exploding flame,
and the sky so blue
will never be the same.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The Poets Blog 