Colors
blend, one into another,
And fade into gray.
Fade not, oh brilliant colors.
Stay true to your shades and hues.
Pinks and purples, blues and greens,
Golden in the light of time.
Stay true--unwavering.
Though others may snatch them from you,
Rejuvenate, and grow in the heart
Where no colors fade, no hues grow dim.
Tune-in, to the heart level,
Growing from the inside out
With rays piercing through the soul,
Enlightening the mind.
True colors fade no longer.
©1995 Sharon Terry
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Separateness
Bridled
and unhurried
She entered into the night
Yielding to the reigns of her being
And listening to the heartbeat of her love,
unsullied and penetrating.
She wrestled with time and place,
Hurling herself into space
as if there were no tomorrow
and no turning back.
With jet black passion
she listened to learn,
And in that learning
found wanton love of self,
Self so base
as to turn the heart to stone.
Within the wisdom
she listened and learned,
And in that learning
found the truth of self,
The truth of love,
The truth of hate.
It was from without
that it came.
For within lay only the
wisdom of the ages.
There was no love there,
Really,
No hate either.
Only time lay still within her.
What was the rage
of accomplishment?
It does not matter.
Only wondering matters,
And she did that well.
Could it all be the same,
All stemming from above,
A downflow,
An outpouring,
A separation of the same energy,
Misused, abused, twisted, turned
this way and that?
She longed to know,
To understand,
To be aware of all that was,
in a unified fashion,
in time and space.
But she turned,
And knowing, she knew,
Yes,
For open within her was the window
to timelessness,
To the "all-at-onceness"
of no time and space.
And she trembled at the passing,
At the coming and the going
so new to her, yet so ancient
as to make her bones creak
and
her muscles ache
and her spirit sag
with the weight of the ages,
So old was she.
The passage of time
would not be long now,
But she could no longer believe
relief was at hand.
It would not come,
He would not come—
the knight upon the steed.
For time and space
were closing in,
And pain - there was no end.
Hope,
Hold onto hope.
Wilderness wandering,
Will it end?
Soon!
©1992 Sharon Terry
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