The Archer

The archer was small but very good at his chosen field. His eye the eye of Eagle or Hawk.
His mind, sound but for a few thoughts of how it all fit together. You see he was not at all that sure that what he saw was all there was.
He pondered many evenings on what reality really could be and decided it could be anything he really believed.
This act brought him many tribulations amongst the nonbelievers but he did not see their wrath at his door for in his world they did not exist.

The loud Zen Master ...

Rust and happiness

Once there was a truck who was old and more than rusted …
Though it still felt strong, with a heart that could still be trusted …
It longed for some crazy youth to fill it with laughter, to push it to the limit …
And a youth did come but sad it was with half a will just was not in it …
The kid it seemed had other dreams and it was just too much to finish …
So the truck sat with dimming hope and cancer forming where metal was needed to replenish …
But then one day an old fellow spied her …
And hopped right inside her …
With a smile a mile wide asked … hey kid how much ya want … and such …
The kid looked at him, for that old bucket I’ll take what ya got and from the looks that ain’t much ! …
The old man bought the truck with all he had then went scouting …
A wheel here, a bargain there and soon you could hear him shouting …
One last touch was to paint the eye of Von Dutch …
That and a little tweek to the clutch …
You and me, we are fine old antiques, we fit like hand and glove …
And off they went, the Chevy and man and all it took was a little love !

This hand ...

This hand I have watched grow, place seed and sew never resting long, reaching
always with it's twin, to the soil and sky both apart and at the same time.
I have seen it learn with passion and teach with the tenderness of an ancient mind
who knows the value of gentle pushes and when to shove.
This hand will guide others to do great things, hurt from a life times worth of toil, clasp a younger one in a warm embrace as well as an aged one as light fails.
This hand will always care.

Blind eye knowing

I



Walk



but



not



arrive,



I



Meditate,



quiet,



The



plum



falls



within



me

Intricate

A delicate balance of dark taken from night to bathe the light of love from it's blinding self and passion flirts with immortality in an intricate dance of eternity.