Wings of Love

To know one is home

To know to walk through the front door

Is a first

That backdoors no longer matter.

Most have had those times of revelation,

When what seemed a negative,

Was a positive in waiting,

Giving paradox its seat in the

Court of self-worth.

To be who you are.

Not who you think you should be,

Or

Who others deem is your destiny,

Who allows

The visiting butterfly

To show love in inordinate ways

As she hovers over the garden’s Blue Vervain,

Not knowing it was there for more than nectar harvest,

For she shared her moments of succulent pleasure

And winged elegance

With my presence of peace,

Soothing my often weary eyes,

Sending vibrations of love

I knew little of

At the time.

To be that person,

Being totally honest with what appeared each morning

In the mirror,

Is to be ready

To find grieving, once a negative

To a grateful weeping of tears,

Sliding down and across the smile

That christened a fresh start for a man

Having learned that existential pain

Is often enigmatic resonance

Wandering about

Trying desperately to find

Purchase.

Perhaps…

When passing becomes ones reality,

There might be no greater disappointment

For those who loved you

Than to witness you passing as

Someone you were not.

So, regale…

As far too many part from this life

Leaving behind little worth remembering.

Yet…

There will always be the fortunate,

Those of a lessor number,

Whose enlightenment has given them

A smile for feeling a closer proximity

With the state of nirvana.

May all the humble existence journey safe

With learned wings of love

To where kindness and grace are needed.