The gift

 Go to the bridge over eel creek with care
learn to patiently pray there
the spoken word seems to burn the air
the Air will be patient with you

Regard these words reflection blown
speak them as if they were your own
we humans are not divine
For flesh dulls us like brine

Illusions return and twist our personal realities
The charm of life a delicate dead end
Among the dirt is vital life fighting
the gates of hell were designed by aphrodite


You are not in league with god
So pray to be in a league of your own
Don't spend yourself for illusion's cost
The gates of heaven are guarded by nephastos

Go to that calm meadow beyond your house
absorb the emptiness there
the solitary life will bear
dialogue with god

They tried to convince you otherwise
Don't ignore the rapids of the creek whisper to you
the bold parrots and tuis shrieks of elation
all part of the conversation

Measure that space between the hemi matenga reach
and the windbeaten waikanae beach
the blessed flat land
tranquil and radiant

cool and soothing
Your parents and His father
in spirit perhaps there still sitting
after death with a view of Kapiti

Perched up there keen
tying knots to keep their old routines
God's booming voice at dusk
You on the flat fertile surface

You must speak to god on the bridge
a very mistaken unknown god
not anchored by the religious, atheists or agnostic
labeled and scapegoated by minds when sick

Over the water you can hear it
the bridge between you and god
Pray there once even in an instance
give thanks for wondrous existance

Feel alive and give the simple news
that life is a gift