After All (O Daniel,)


And after all is done, you might look to me as I run, after all it’s just a chance I take. That my stars will still fall, my lightning mystery moonbeam, will still call. And I will feel the wind touch my hair, break out of this puzzle, a body left on dare, and after all, I will fly away. After all.

The kid in me would like to grow tall, leap over buildings, and watch as I fall. The joy in my ethos would like to convince you of a call, attention is a moment, but many moments make an all. For unto me, that’s born where stars fall, a creek a meadow, a kid who just saw, himself an old man in a mirror in the hall. Oh my, such passion, to climb that fourteener there, to write a Hardy Boy story, maybe one that really scares. To feel the wind just touching my gray hair, I’m not really old so there is no need to really stare. I’m the child in after all, a Trojan hiding in after all.

In after all, the moon is made of sand, it harbors Tom Swift, and his flying lab of glam. I twist and shout forget how old I am, and see the rooftop where stars imagine it’s the summer when Carter ran. Oh New Mexico a story, those summers in the sand.

Is it just old me, or does anybody else see in after all, there’s treasures that mend a soul, it could be internal, a spiritual kind of virtual, that plants the seeds that blossoms one’s mind. Why is it said that to go back is so bad, when sometimes the best lessons are free? In after all the boy in me, didn’t ever see the need to have anything but just love. And just because it feels the air, my answer still is filled with care from just in me a kid, my thoughts are random and kind. Not the same in adulthood one might find.

The kid in me would like to own all the seas, and hoist the Jolly Roger above the leaves. Of the fair immortal tree house of my mind. And when after all the stories had been told, I would like to find a secret passage and understand. Why mystery invigorates the boy in me who holds the old gray haired man in his hand.

And after all is done, you might look to me as I run, after all it’s just a chance I take. That my stars will still fall, my lightning mystery moonbeam, will still call. And I will feel the wind touch my hair, break out of this puzzle, a body left on dare, and after all, I will fly away. After all.

The Latin form of Daniel Immortal is “O Daniel,” For my son Daniel Ryan 😉 – 05.04.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Wonder of September

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Wonder of September, deep, striking Messiah glistens.  Fallen ice from the ledge where he watches waiting for his ethereal fall.  Strange air, blonde eyes judgment blue she pushes by.  Impatient craving knowledge she leaps.  Molten with banished hope he stands the sacrifice.  Days with lions he waits, by the wheels and machinations of Ezekiel he plays.  Choice of wisdom, paradigm of virtue he turns and faces G-d.  Vessels bound receiving, open eyelids giving he flows, reeling he falls, and beauty is risen.

The moon debases and mixes.  Imperfection has found the alchemy of wishes, he falls and fly’s with major chords of creation between his teeth.  Orchestrated knowledge melds together, with stars that glow, a soul for September immortal eyes that glisten with compassion.  Some things are meant for passion, rain before the snow.  Stranger still as cells are released at earth is the heat as Seraphim sing.  Days of ancient, blood of little kings, archetype of David, blessed of firmament this baby companion brings.

Shattered adjectives beyond description, summoned emanation, choice of colors in lightning he falls.  Across horizons his void, his balance gazes upon him, so cold in ice.  All is equal in September, captured earthward the lower and the upward release.  Concealed union, the moon is darkened, the cradle rocking with strong release.  The veil is spinning grown together, the map of chaos bequeaths this day.  Psalms of liquid, lost charms in strange tongues praising, the birth of wonder has come to pray.

Conjecture comes to witness, and then like a pale familiar it crawls away.  Solitude in wonder, Malkuth spans the kingdom where the child lays.  The esoteric rhythm, tree, and temple sheltered in consent by flesh.  Colorless dominions void of reflection, consciousness gathered by wondrous sight.  Air and existence, deep upon deep filled now with days.  Dancing flesh moving, through a glass now seen clearly, she who left before him now kisses his face.  The wonder of September is born in grace. – DS 12/07/2013

For my son Ryan who is the Wonder of SeptemberDS 12/07/2013