Tag Archives: writing

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Flux

by Liam 

The end, is a veil too thin to hide,

The quiet pause before the turning tide.

Life twists, it shifts, it will not stay,

A restless stream carving its way.

Closure? No, it’s all soil and seed,

Life the fertile ground for what you need.

The past, a shadow cast behind,

A fleeting echo of heart and mind.

Don’t cling to those colors that fade and fray,

The light ahead shapes your brighter day.

So bend, transform, and dare to dream,

What you believe in creates the stream.

From what is hidden, new form will rise,

Each end remakes what it implies.

And in its stillness, new beginnings sing,

Let your soul takes flight on a fresh new wing.

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Resonance

by Liam

When my heart attunes to fields aspace,

Where gratitude, in love with silence blend,

Abundance moves through thought’s reflective place

And insights of the spirit mend.

Compassion lifts my veil of inner sight,

Appreciation warms my fleeting breath;

Understanding turns my mind toward the light

And love dissolves my fear of death.

Within a chorus where mindful thoughts do flow,

Cognition grows brighter in my living dream;

Introspection’s lantern starts to glow

And wakes me, the dreamer deeper in the dream.

Through inner light, the path of being shines more clear,

And finds the timeless present now and here.

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The Apparel of God

by Liam

Appear as you are to your self 

Be as your Self appears to you

Apparently, appearance is appealing so

Be not appalled by the apparel of personality 

By the fleeing foe stifling your awakening

Awaken within yourself 

To a harmony together with God

It’s simple really, you realize self

Appearing appareled in the garb of God

We here become true, unique and fathomless.

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Would you Believe 

by Liam

There are days

when the road closes in around you,

when the air thickens

with the weight of unfinished questions,

With the fragrance of misunderstood answers. 

Yet the wound of the moment

is rarely the thing that breaks the heart.

It is the quiet whisperer

that tells me:

This is how it will always be.

That voice builds a house

inside your mind,

nails the windows shut,

dims the lamps of your tomorrow.

Our magnificent soul was not made

for sealed rooms, though.

Somewhere beyond that taught and learned horizon

An unseen tide is already turning;

the dusty field beneath these feet

is quietly gathering green.

Not one winter has ever convinced the earth

that spring was impossible.

And no difficulty

no matter how stern its face,

has ever possessed the final word.

So should the night lean heavily upon you,

Remind and remember this hidden kindness of time:

“What tries to destroy you

is not the path through the mountain,

but the belief

that the mountain will never move.”

Lift your gaze friend.

Every single stone

is learning slowly 

how to become sand on the beach.

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The Art of Love

by Liam

Have you considered loving Love itself?

Take up this blossom gently in your hands,

And lift it to your beating heart

Within this basket, Love is born;

Within we learn to love its flame.

Now warm, O warm my heart with tender light;

Cast wide the woven blanket of this dusk,

Fine-threaded with the colors of the sky.

Then let it descend to cradle restless eyes,

To still their startled, winged and wandering flight.

For here are you, and here am I,

Enraptured in the movement of one pulse

A fleeting instant, opening into time.

A moment stretches toward eternity,

While infinity shrinks to oblivion 

Yet Forever echoes the answer: 

…Love…Love…Love…

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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.