Sanctuary

Into the night skies
my soul searches
listens to find
a voice
carried over time
my soul waits.
Blossoms of stars
dance before my eyes
and like the sojourners
who set sail
long before I knew anything
my eyes reach out
searching familiar patterns
in the night sky.
Star light
rain down on me
tell me a story
to dream by.
They just smile back at me
and becon me deeper
into the night.
Loose myself here.
Loose all notions
of saying anything
that could compare
to the old brilliance
just reaching my eyes.
Stars
beautiful
more beautiful
than any perfect eyes
that man has ever declared
most beautiful
it is the soul
and only that
is more beautiful
than the stars.
The stars
are the sisters
and brothers
the earth
the sky
the whole of humanity
just dancing to a different
song than the one we hear
even when we are lost
in a perfect night sky.
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So I have become we
and we has become
the stars
and the stars
get lost in our soul matter
making us
soul mates to the stars
and death mates too.
They are home
they are the sancturary
that our dreams
are birth in
and birthed out again,
the breath of life
the birth of everything
we are them
and they are I.
Two different takes. I'm not sure about either.
Wendy
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shakes my head......
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shakes my head
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oh goodie, now your shaking your head. Is it empty? Try knocking on either side, and if you hear rattling going on you know that something is there that is loose. Now get your self a pair of pliars and tighten thoes loose screws down a bit.
I just love the constructive critism you offer. This response is about as brilliant and as helpful yes?
Try again honey, you've lost me completely because shaking your head is very vague? Remember I'm just writing crap and that's easier to understand than shaking your head.
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Ignore the nuances of that atrophied mind Wendy. Once I too could look mesmerizingly on the night sky and echo your spirited words but life has tempered me so in the interim years that I cannot reinvent that fervor in the dampening coals. I visit here and other poetry forums not to write but to revisit [vicariously] waystations in my memory that others are now owning. That is the beauty of poetry, it speaks to some and not so to others; just realize in dealing with these head-shaker's and eye-roller's that no amount of clarification will suffice to one suffering with Asperger's Syndrome. Thank you for the breath of poetry that you are writing. It is refreshing. -vicariously
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Knowing what the creative process means to me, I can only immagine what it would be like to have that disnigrate and still be functional for the rest of daily life.
To feel it slipping away would be like death done badly, having to continue with life minus life so to speak.
You have reminded me of some important things.
Thankyou.
Wendy
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See, I thought wendy was amber...but now I know that there truely is another girl....with the impression that everyone lambasts each other here. Hmmm, I wonder where she got that idea. Is this junior high? How old are you guys? 12? Nice spelling wendy..
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you are abusive to everyone who signs with a female handle.
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I don't care what your handle is...I abuse everyone equally. Spank you very much. A bisexually abusive...transexual...next on Jerry...