The Words
shift
like sliding, overcast
shades of gray,
dark and forbidding
and then the break.
The apple of Apollo’s eye
turns golden
and The Words shift like
rippling waves
of green
in the
windblown grass.
They feel better,
freer,
like bare feet
wriggling toes in the soil.
The Words grow
taller, stronger,
happier
They spill out energetically
like
tossed dice,
for all to see and hear
loaded
with life.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr
It’s in the simple things:
intimate, small gestures that say you care
a palpable connection felt when eyes meet
knowing the thoughts, finishing the sentences
a connection of hands, the intertwine of fingers
the ebb and flow of bodies
giving and receiving
a binding of hearts and souls
a freeing of spirits
and we understand
the ancient lore of oneness
singing in rounds of alternate harmonies
walking together
down the pleasant path
to
Home.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr.
Beyond Panic 