Frantic

Frantic. These Antics have got to stop. 
The mirror is clearer when viewed 
from the top. 
Away I go, only this and 
this I know:
the Flowers have the power
that we are looking for!
Count the hours as they
sour until the midnight 
moon has bore.....the dream
that seems the same
but in another name, in
another Game....she smiles
still
she smiles
real
she is 
Calm Now
by the illusion of Sunset
Clean
by the act of surrender.
Where does the Shadow run to
and where can it hide
when the forces of Mind
have locked it inside?

Mothers hands have been Cleansed
she claims no piece
she wants to be released.

Heathens! We have come from the far corners
of this inevitable world
we have come bearing Gifts
we have come wearing Risks
like the promises 
that sink beneath our skin
neglected skin.....lethal doses
of illusionary Sin.

Why have you forsaken me
Master
what have I failed you?
Sweat and tears are only fears
if you can waken
to your Whys. 

Peace has come
To this lonely Heart
Shaken from the Waking
but she Always plays her part. 
Quietly she has come to you
asking for your hand in Truth
openly she has asked of you
to bury her prayers beneath 
your wings
and to be held by the heartstrings
of your wonderings. 

Wake up, to your Dreams
and know that they
are more than Seams
…..a place to find your freedom
find your Lore
find and seed them 
from your Core
without the separation 
without the preparation 
without the desperation
we seem to find. Everywhere. 

Charleen Johnston
December 2002