My Universe I sit silently within my universe. And my universe, sits silently within me. I am bathed in golden light, passing... as moments do. A thread, in the garment of my life. Woven with sound, and with meaning. Strengthened by my beating heart. Strengthened by the ticking clock. Strengthened by my realisation of my place in it all. I am everything…I am nothing. I am bathed in golden light. Struck by the moment. |
Art is everywhere I see beauty in things. The peeling paint, of an old garage door moved me with its artistic splendour. A work of art, created by the wind, the sun, the rain. The scuffs and knocks of passing life, had created wonderful delicate colours and forms. Beautiful contrasts, as layers of paint had bubbled and peeled back, to show long forgotten layers beneath. Human hands could not have reproduced this masterpiece. For this was a canvas, on which time had signed its name. |
Becoming From deep within, I am emerging. Goddess white, and brilliant. The flame, becomes a fire. I am incandescent. I have bathed in turquoise waters. Dross has turned to gold. Sunlight, fills my being. I am radiant. The skin of my youth, now shed. I recognise my shadow. Dark corners, banished by light. I am reborn. |
Life Winter sun burnishes my world. Late afternoon glow. Golden lights, pick out natures shadows. The world is alive beneath my feet. The air dances with energy. The giant fireball in the heavens bathes me, in liquid yellow streaks, as it tumbles lazily onto the horizon. And as I honour my journey, as a living breathing piece of a universal jigsaw. The power of life, overwhelms me. |
The Mask Cutter Carefully, bit by bit I will dismantle the armour, you did not know you wore. For I am the mask cutter, I prospect for gold. I will be your light in the darkness. Your port in the storm. Your mirror, of all you do not yet recognise in yourself. For I am the mask cutter, I prospect for gold. Lean on me, as you discover the courage to seek the essence of you. Your own shining light. The gold, under the armour you did not know you wore. For I am the mask cutter, I prospect for gold. |
Age Is a tree any less beautiful in autumn, when the springtime blossom has passed. The fruits of summer, now gathered, the harvest, long since passed. Or is that when the richness of colour, that is lit by the afternoon sun, makes the leaves, all shimmer like firelight. With a beauty, that’s second to none. |
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Copyright © 2000 Susannah Bec