"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly" - Richard Bach

- Slipping sliding
quickly falling
gently caught
cradled by wisdom
propelled by realization

- Genius is Golden
born in the fire
like a flame burning
it cleanses the soul

- Arise like a Phoenix
dust falls from your wings
wings to soar upon
appendages of genius

- Slipping sliding
quickly falling
gently caught
cradled by wisdom
propelled by realization

- The bottom is the beginning
you must fall before you can fly
the flames will purify
arise into wonder and *fly

Spring just bloomed for me a minute ago. An outward spring and inner spring. A shout out for re-juvenation, on the cold streets and in the cold heart. Scorched chances in the past, the promise to never let spring re-enter. Living under a cloud of seperateness and forgeting there is anything that can match it. There is, that nagging pinch of the heart, one of its breaths, enough to call to life a million flowers in this and other dimensions. Music of the past, playing in my ear, like a woken grave. The emotion it provides, not entirely untangled from the drab experience that used to accompany it. Still listening with faith of the next minute, the chance of a phoenix love song, the hope of light bouncing off a tear on my face hopeful of being hand and hand with that special Spring. The time of hearts, melting karma and at least an alarm clock on the rest of the season. Likeminded souls, nestled in celebration in a cramped apartment in Cambridge reciting Julius Caesar, "beware the Ides of March" it is always darkest before the light. God didn't allow us entrance to a dimension with out a sunroof. This Sunroof sometimes sticks, but is inevitably opened. Hoping this rambling finds and spawns early lightful openings in others. Peace be to the moment and the feeling in my heart.........