Where the Spirit Wind travels
Posted by Barry Hurd in Spiritual
Once, when I was younger, I imagined myself flying above cold ocean.
Gale wind carried my soul like a flurry across the waves,
holding myself as if nothing was tangible.
I remember it as if my heart had pause, as if I could no longer live,
hoping and believing for something warm, some mythical destination,
to where I would find myself salvation and sanctuary.
Once was a long time ago.
Now I float above the city, dreaming of how far my world can travel,
yearning to be something that I cannot see, a lust to be worthwhile,
to have value beside how my life sounded so hollow, so fragile.
I cared not to believe anymore, the embracing love of childhood was gone,
as if I could no longer be something wanted, simply a thing of intrigue,
for the very eyes that look past me, even through me, with simple dismissal.
My attendance was never required.
Yet I venture through to the hills, passively watching such subtle caring,
as people meander from field to family, from friend to fortune,
and I realize that they breathe my life as if their own.
I try desperately to exhale them, to break myself of such mundane thoughts,
as my world is engulfed and devoured by such futile personalities,
when I find myself consumed, and no one even knew I was there.
Witnessing a Miracle
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic, Spiritual
When I fell into wonder,
there was a moment when I thought of you.
Your eyes shining light through the darkness,
piercing the shadows covering my heart,
the very essence of who I am,
helping me believe the truth,
of who I need to be.
Your truth, the essence of beauty,
the illusion of life dispelled,
by knowing what perfection is,
the knowledge I care more for you,
than I do myself, making me hopeless,
beyond the common understanding,
I find myself believing.
Spiritual Passion
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Spiritual
Character has no path, except for the moment when one becomes aware.
As if life, the evolution of desire and hope, cares not for being average.
Tomorrow may need to find this body surrendered and cast down,
Yet I will find the improvement, here and now, as I build my soul’s abode.
Character is the effort we take to learn our triumphs and our failures,
It is the second we find out what we are made of, so that we may define all else.
The search for our passion, of indiscretion and of wanting desire.
Minutes of faithful love destined to be contrasted by heartfelt agony.
Character is our perfect fortune in life, a treasure that only one may possess.
It is a parody of everything, the very symbol of our actions and our beliefs.
The wealth of having all we need as we question each answer, and move forward.
This is not dreaming, it is of prosperity and respect, for yourself and all others.
Character is war, where victory is destined to happiness, hopeful and prosperous.
When failure is a challenge to your very survival, begging for mercy that may never appear.
It is a conquest of worlds fought by every spirit, striving every unfaltering step of the way,
As we learn to take each movement further, without looking back, to become ourselves.
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Flight of an Angel
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Daily thoughts, Dreams, Spiritual
In a lonely place, I said farewell
No longer could I dwell,
And I left no sign of personal relation
As divine words, became my hope of salvation
No trace on these crimson skies
Just thoughts chiseled within the question why.
Days of failing memory,
Distant things I cannot convey.
The stemmed roses in a field of dream,
Reminded me of things no one else saw.
One more step, I tell myself
That my spirit survives and will never fall
That I must carry my faith alone,
My aching heart, perfect in itself,
Weighing more than any would know.
As I questioned my body, my need of believing,
In something that even I could never see.
Should I wander, the wonder of my life
May it be that I will go, to leave this lonely place.
That your wings carry me when I fade,
I am away, perhaps not this day, but in feelings I must stay
That I never question, nor should I ponder,
This path I find within your eyes,
No I will not ask, no I will not forget,
For my thoughts simply remember beautiful,
And you, my angel, taught me how to fly.
Some people
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Daily thoughts, Spiritual
Some people, are amazing.
Simple flames in the darkness.
Calm voices in a chaotic world,
the serenity of silence within a storm.
Some people, perfect life.
Breathing in the beauty of today,
of escaping yesterday
and dreaming of tomorrow.
Some people, never believe.
In nature, how wild life is,
or the way we all evolve,
changing ourselves with the season.
Some people, amazing, perfect, believing,
know how to live, how to strive
to become more, than today,
and never stop finding themselves again.
Soul Becoming
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Spiritual
Once, when I was little,
I remember hearing voices.
Chaotic and playful,
perfect,
friendly.
When I was older,
I had become deaf,
slowly losing myself
to the murmur of indifference,
that we call society.
Now I know,
that I am far more,
than what other people see,
I am, without doubt,
listening.
The Path of Dreams
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Spiritual
That our dreams may hold the answers.
The memories of our life, the notes of all our desire.
Every phrase of care, of loving words that we have spoken.
The moments in the fire that defined our lifelong yearning,
and of cherished times laying at our feet that feel so broken.
These dreams are the stepping stones to wonderland.
Each and every one, perfectly laid into a path,
so that we may journey down them one at a time.
Built of hope and of fear, of love and misery,
they hold us only long enough to experience them once.
As they crumble to dust and we faulter forward.
Before our world, the life we define seems so solid,
yet dissolves under the wieght of our hopeful living,
becoming pebbles of memory that fall upon the water,
and land peacefully in our dreams as echoes of our past.
Every family joke, every friend that said good-bye,
The moments we asked why, and every heart we broke.
Yet in our journey, as in all,
we pause, finding our journey at an end,
and the foundation of our dreams no longer holds our wieght.
We fall into the deep lake of our consciousness
and for a fraction of our life become aware
of the dreams beneath our feet that are always there.
Lovers
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Love, Spiritual
I have never known, anyone.
More beautiful, than you.
Hearing the sound of summer
escape your lips, heavy breathing.
Now I have dreamed,
feverishly throwing my desire,
into a moment that can never be trivial.
Yet the passion gone,
lost in a moment of serenity
with only your eyes watching,
Do I understand myself, of you and I,
as my heart becomes steady and strong.
I am not lost, merely carefree in my adoration
pondering the rhythym of your life
next to mine.
The Dreams of Youth
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Spiritual
In our childhood, we are told
to dream of things that will never be.
Embrace the sentiment, the sub-conscious
and all the desires we have never spoken.
These are the lost moments of our wonderland,
the deep echo that thunders in our infancy.
Yet it is our world, the moment to be recalled,
as the birthday passes and our life becomes familiar.
It is within our innocence, that the figment is true,
that a warm embrace becomes and intimate reminder,
and we fall, never knowing, fast asleep.
Magical Garden
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Romantic, Spiritual
One would remember this time of year, not as a time of brilliant imagery
but of lucid memory falling fragrantly into moments of sight
As my eyes would look upon the sun high above, as it touched heaven
and as my eyes looked upon a field of nature’s bloom
I would not be able to detail my vision, my heart’s search
or the way the faint wind beckoned my spirit to wander
Yet I would stop, for a moment as I settled my lucid fantasy
and kneel down to caress the body of a rose so perfect.
I would feel it’s thorns, the silk sensuality of it’s every petal,
my spirit would transcend mere footsteps
and find itself looking into a dreaming lilac.
The blades of inspiration reaching towards the dreaming sky unseen
and after falling back to the earth holding the seeds of a lifetime,
discover that the sunflowers caused karmic resurrection of my childhood.
I should wonder, if a moment of time lost in a place of fantasy,
in a figment filled with a hope only I could know,
be ever transcribed, or gifted to another.
Yet as I left my place of casual destiny, flowers in hand,
would one person know that nothing in my dreams,
compared to the realization of the beauty they possessed?