The Healing Light of Ancestral Love

The Healing Light of Ancestral Love

Here on the long nights of the year,
in the darkest hours of mid-winter,
I call upon those wise, loving ones,
those radiant, bright elevated souls
whose names are beyond my reach.
Those who are well in spirit, come
and shine your healing light of love
all the way down my ancestral line.
Far past the ruinous family shadow
of madness, violence and addiction,
towards my true ancestral blessings
of creativity, healing and devotion.

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The Language of the World

The Language of the World

In childhood I danced to another tune,
so odd, I thought the gypsies had left me.
At nine I awoke to the call of creativity,
for a golden hour or two. Up and down
the alphabet I travelled, eyeing up words,
never finding the same word-flute twice.
Being of two hearts I wanted to be liked,
but secretly I longed to be the real thing.

A is for alcohol not the ruddy red apple
I grasped, while watching in fear as booze
transformed my lonely, introverted father
into a wild, highly dramatic personality.
Elvis, all shook up, drunk on tramp juice.
Mute, I spoke only in hesitant sentences,
for I would rather heed the silences of life
than listen to the cruel vagaries of his ego.

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