ESAY (After the foreground that came to alterangement of alliance.)


how does one come by Easy?
how to attract, align, embrace?
what magic in the ether,
puts this rightfully in its place?

what is the gift of pique, of rift,
what it is that embraces or rejects?
i guess it is just gut instinct,
the Invisible that guides our quest.

Life is almost like liquid.
you slide, you glide on its bones.
the ride is the tide you intended,
and Bravery is calling it your own.

oh, how others buoy you.
ohh.  how Others breathe.
you beckon them to come closer.
but once they taste, they hastily leave.

no one wants to hear the Truth.
no one wants to know my reaction.
they claim, and cloy, and say oh, boy,
look here -- another Attraction.

but Chance is a glance to contend with.
you put your soul on the line.
you write out a wish for completion,
in hopes of finding One who is aligned.

and if you are so lucky
to get the Grand Respond
you know, alert, so conscious,
that it Exists, so you fight for this song.

there is no tap for the Wellspring;
you cannot bottle it up.
for you see it is not a commodity,
and it is easily left for naught.

every action wants a reaction,
hunger, want, even greed.
to pique the soul of another
is to align.  to sign.  to receive.

you can only say who you are thus far.
you can only say that you are willing to give.
the mantis, the birds, winged words
call out, to explain, to live.

recognition is a grand gift.
but the mystery of another’s mind
will drive them away if you say it;
the very thing by which you were aligned.

and so, they go away, puzzled.
their questions, left hanging in air.
you were asked, and you answered truthfully,
about what you saw in there.

grief.  my God, the depths of it.
to have to clamor just to survive.
ripped.  stripped, left bleeding.
like a chasm, gaping inside.

and you learn the language of Rescue.
you see that your friends draw near.
to love, to nurture, to protect you;
to dry your sore, bereft tears.

so, i guess that’s the Voice of Experience,
others can see it on your face,
the marks from the puddles and wings of Life,
that attracts them to that need of grace.

and so you can don the Motherlode,
you can pride your survival, and reach.
to be able to say, aloud to the World,
i know how to navigate this breach.

my tools, my stories, are all free,
i give them over, willingly, and glib.
and if there is even a shred of your own plight,
then here, please take them, a Gift.

Credo, bond, affection.
cognition, unfolding, embrace.
tears and smiles, all mingled.
as Life slowly swings back into place.

so i guess i have found my answer.
Ease is this very thing.
to Allow, to bow to another’s heart,
and teach them their own song to sing.


This piece began some time ago, and 

was a bit dejected.  So, after some thought, I decided

to Flip It, to the positive!

Graphic:  The Apology, by Mark Ryden

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