want to be a lantern
that lights up
the path

want to be a fire
that burns
in the dark

want to be the star
that points
to the North

want to be the sun
that nourishes
the earth

want to be a glorious beat
that pulses through
the Heart of the Universe

and can I not wish
for a light that travels fair
and far

and can I not wish
for a world where light travels
faster and further
than the reach of the dark

and if by wishing I could undo
what has been done
then there would be no more nightmares
for in a blink of a heartbeat, they shall be gone


my heart was a cocoon

my heart was a cocoon
and wishes of better tomorrows
slept on cold heavy wings
this whole time I waited
but didn’t know I was ready
with each insight
each memory
I sank deeper
and deeper
into my Self
and found that I had been awake
my eyes wide open like a child’s
and as I saw the Truth
my fears fell away
and at that moment
I was light like a feather
and as I chose to Become
I was no longer astray

Flower-Songs of Healing

If I were to bury my past, it is mine to bury.

I buried my wounds long ago, in fear that they would ever hurt again, and I dared not look upon its eyes, for every time I meet its tantalizing gaze I felt I would lose a piece of myself, and I would never find my way back to who I was again.

For years I buried my past in those silent fields, tried to dream it away with my anger, trying to keep it outside of my perfectly peaceful world, trying to keep the little balance that I had from toppling. Each day I would walk by that little patch of earth, expecting to see something disgusting and rotten,

and very often I did,

I saw a blackness so soiled and burned that I was afraid I would never unsee the devastating sight of destruction.

But as each day went on, and I walked by, I noticed it less and less,
the darkness I buried disintegrated
from the gentle coaxing of the sun and promise of spring
until one day I walked by I saw that
the past has been dug,
the earth that absorbed its venom was no longer an ominous shade of black,

and I noticed that my heart was pure all along,

and that my worst of me was
and still is
the best of me.

I looked upon the flower that grew out of the seed of heartache and chaos,
and I knew those flowers were fragile and
though not ready for picking,
I bent down and lowered myself to meet its gaze,
to whisper to its tiny body,

to tell myself that

I love you
more than the world
more than the stars in the galaxy
more than all your dreams and wishes combined
more than your fiercest desires and most fervent hopes
more than you will ever
ever know.


Dust-Songs of Healing

perhaps wounds need to be buried
so that they may tuck themselves away in their dismay and silence
so that they may spin themselves a web of nightmares far away from your reach
so the fervent sobs and aches will slowly and gently dull
and what used to hurt you will fade away as the story draws to a close

but one day the wind will unsettle
the dust covering the bones of your past
the rain will wash away the layers of soil
gatekeeping the festering pains of your soul
the blades and claws from a lifetime ago
will reveal themselves to the light
and you, breathless but steady,
will hold remnants of who you used to be in your hands
you will pick them up and reminisce all that there ever was
and you will laugh with tears in your eyes as they turn
into dust in your hands
and you will release your fingers
and they will be caught in a soft gust of air that purposefully comes
and you will watch as the dust
is swept away by one gentle breeze

Ghosts-Songs of Healing

Sometimes you hear voices and whispers, and you think there are ghosts unsettling the dust in your soul’s keeping, because you have lived through years of their haunting and have been tormented by their shadows. You think that if you find those ghosts, you can expose them to the light and you will in turn find peace in your act of exorcism-you live in fear of their returning, and you are anxious to see them gone, you breathe and you puff yourself up and you refuse to be defeated because you are scared of feeling powerless.

But they aren’t ghosts. They are echoes of the struggles of your past. They are the echoes of your battle cries that you screamed long ago, that you still hear when you see a glimpse of the darkness that you seek to banish.

There is darkness in you; there are nightmares that dwell and try to frighten you with their seemingly infinite reach, but darkness is not a place beyond your reach; it is not a space where you get lost in. In the dark, the stars of truth shine fiercer, the healing rays of the moon glow brighter, and the essence of your spirit shine forever.

It is at night when you find yourself in your shadow. It is at night where dreams and reality collide and you find that the only thing is real is your own very breath and the beating of your fragile heart. It is at night where you find your own light. It is at night where you transform and turn into the sun. And you are glorious. And you are beautiful. And though past night comes day then comes night again, you yourself are the entirety of your celestial world. You are eternal. You are brilliant.

And you are not your ghosts.

You are your truest, most genuine and glorious self.

And you are alive.


There Is No Middle Ground by Arthur Solomon


“Solitude” by fairydancer464 via PhotoBucket

This poem is not mine, but I want to share because it’s meaningful.

There are many people who have seen the way things are,
And have asked almost in despair,
But what can I do?
An the only answer has been,
You have to do something about You.
Only you can decide whether you will be a part of
This destruction or whether you will set
Your heart and mind against it.
You may not be able to change where you work or how
You earn your living,
But you are totally responsible for the direction that
You give your own life.

We are only visitors here in this part of Creation,
We are guests of the one who owns this Creation.
We are always to keep in mind that we
Can own nothing here, not even our own lives.
So the purpose of life then, is
Not to acquire possessions
But to honour the Creator by how we live.

If we choose to be on the side of that great Positive Power
We have no choice but to set our hearts and minds
Against the destruction around us,
But thought without action is useless.
We must be on one side or the other
And how we will involve ourselves must be the free choice of everyone.

If we choose to act, we must act intelligently
And with common sense.
It means we will do everything in our power to understand
The questions that we choose to involve ourselves with.

But whatever we are, we must be action people
Even if the only action possible is to pray.

Power is given to each of us by the Creator.

They are on a journey, they have chosen their way.
They will restore their humanity.
They will take their place in the sun.
Will their path be a road of anger and bloodshed?
Or will it be a road they can walk on in honour and peace?

A new nation of people will be born again,
the sacred colour red will be restored
and no power on earth can prevent it>
You, that other colour of man,
can assist at the birth of this new nation,
Will you?

Taken from “The Hollow Tree” by Herb Nabigon,
Reprinted from Arthur Solomon, Songs for the People: Teachings on the Natural Way. Edited by Michael Posluns, 67-8 (Toronto: NC Press, 1990)

So She Sits There

So she sits there, poised, her elbows resting

On the arms of a mahogany chair;

The bangs of her hair are arranged just at

The right degree—at ease and comfortably slanted—

In order to cast a protective shade

Over the cold uncertainty that still flickers in her eyes.


Her fingers, interlocking, is an attempt

To stop herself from yearning for a hand to hold,

And she sits there, with her legs crossed

To trick those muscles into forgetting

What it was like to walk beside him

Under the cherry blossom trees.


Such wondrous, magnificent poetry. 


So she sits there. With great consideration and precision,

She tugs away the floating anxieties of a girl, shoves the

Boisterous quirkiness into silence, and her innocent appreciations

Into carefully chosen interests that represent womanhood.

Abruptly, she redefines herself through the power of will,

And avoids mirrors at all cost.


So she poses for the camera, purposefully,

Occupying this moment with her practiced grace.

This picture, after it’s been transferred, cropped,

Colour-toned and uploaded onto her Facebook page

Is meant to be adored.


An intelligent dreamer at her best.


As she obscures the truth with a smile and

Mends the ever-changing world with meticulous

Automatic correction, like Microsoft Word underlining

A sentence that is grammatically awkward, or

A word that is misspelled. The brilliant intricacies of her mind

Delete and reinsert the letters of reality—

Ushering the story towards its rightful conclusion,

Against all odds.


This is how it’s supposed to end.


So she sits there, poised, like a wounded goddess

Falling out of love, the same way she’s fallen into love

Waiting to be seen, wanting to be remembered

Dreaming of becoming the thing he has lost.