Prayer

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

I wish plenty on my enemy.

I wish him the whole world.

I wish him strength

And vitality,

Happy times,

Fulfilment of his desires

And speed in their unfold

So he does not wait or want

Or hunger or thirst.

I wish plenty on my enemy

And that he finds love in his heart

For friends and family,

For his beautiful children,

And all the folk

In his immediate familiarity.

I wish him warmth

So he might sit comfortable

Within his body,

His mind dipping

In the infinite flow of love,

His cells infused

With wealth

And wonder at it all;

His mind wishing plenty upon his enemy.

Future in Source

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment
The future is warm
Ripe with possibility.

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What world could we conceive
If we held the hand of Source?
You’re right atheists
The dogma of religion doesn’t work,
It’s corrupted.
But Source is different,
Warmer, and emanating spectral energy
In wisps drawn ever down.
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What world could we conceive
In limitless energy?
What world
When all are infused,
Our hearts awash with love,
Our bodies safe
And our fears released
So the weapon in our hand
Becomes the relic
Of an age surpassed,
So we may rise
And be the sun
On the very first dawn,
As we begin again
To work the world
With our hands
That are clean of brutality,
Empty of hateful past,
Naked like the child
Who comes unfettered
And glowing whole
To our doorsteps.

Lights Of March

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

 

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Softly treads March
Upon the sun-warmed earth:
A new green pallet
Strewn in daplings
Beneath trees
Still winter shod
But bearing
Blue sky and bud.
And Beneath:
A brief trumpeting
Of yellowness
Before the sky shades
With a canopy of leaf.

©Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2017

Legacy

~ distilledvoice ~ Leave a comment

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We, the future
Froth upon the past,
Like lights girdering
The stanchioned and cemented rise
Of our skyward technological pride:
Apparently so different to our
Top-hatted and bonneted selves.
Yet sunk in the sump,
Our architecture founds itself
In skirts of steam empire
And Britannia
Greater than wishfulness.

I propose
The top hat to be
Present and near,
Not relinquished or pushed aside.
We are merely bareheaded
And not in the least bit changed.

©A Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2017

A Troop Of Goldfinch

~ distilledvoice ~ 1 Comment

A troop of goldfinch
Alight verbena,
Trapeze the bended stem
To plunder last year’s seeds
Now dry in the sheaf.

I recall last season’s butterflies
Tasting nectars,
Opening their sun drenched wing
Upon the purple heads,
And marvel now

At brotherliness:
Symbiosis motive in the world:
Investments dividend returned
In grateful harvests born
And born, and born again.

©A Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2017