The Face

There is a face in the crowd,

The eyes are focused,

The lips are silent,

As all stories have been,

In the ocean of stories,

Amidst a sea of illusions,

Before a thousand eyes,

Unseen.

Each story is just words,

Sounds upon nothing,

Which live just as long,

As the life of a sound,

With voices that fade,

Along with the heartbeat,

Of the face unseen,

Which you saw in the crowd.

The face cannot be drawn,

For it is not remembered,

Yet behind the eyes,

Breathes a living soul,

Which wept and laughed,

Which danced and cried,

Living the tragedies and triumphs,

Which make us whole.

In a thousand years,

Each face will be dust,

With the children’s children,

Forgotten too,

Yet to learn one face,

And the soul behind it,

Can defined life,

And what is true.

Visions of Truth From La Jolla

We live out our lives,

Where the day meets the night,

Where silence meets sound,

Where the sky meets the ground,

Where the water meets the wind,

Where the end again begins,

Where the sun meets the rain,

Where love means pain,

Where our laughter meets the tears,

Where strength meets our fears,

Where the eyes meet the soul,

Where the half becomes whole,

Where are the past meets what will be,

Where the blind through the heart can see,

Where my heart keeps asking why I am here,

To the mind such truths remain unclear.

A Morning in La Jolla - from 10/26/19

With sharp eyes and dark hair,

And a heart that thirsts for love,

Purpose was a quest and treasure to find,

Amidst a sea of souls,

Learning something from each one,

Teaching something along the way,

Making a difference or so I thought,

For the world is unchanged every day.

With vision weakened and hair gray,

Wisdom has replaced joy,

The world walks past me as I write,

The sun rising as it did before,

The thrill of the quest is no more,

Knowing the day approaches faster,

Where silence will replace my prattle,

As the sun rises over another nameless stone.

I believe that God gave me good seeds,

I went forth planting many seeds with love,

Now as the planter I must have faith,

Though most seeds I will never see grow,

I know they must grow because I planted well,

Not upon the stones but in good soil,

So that they may bear fruit for other souls,

Which came through my tired hands.