I think of love as this enduring human essence that spans into the flowers. Pragma.
Into this moment released from the breath of a world clouded in the rays of the sun. Loving the feel of breath across my lip. Philautic.
Bring me this familiar dance between the stalled expansion of laughter. A tear dancing on my cheek, with holding its familiar taste from a trembling lip. Storge.
And Then I Wondered.
I loved within this span of time — seeking to know and understand the limits of imagination. Turning inside the universe where my love speaks without words.
When Did It Turn?
What!
Instilled. Looking back on a time past, reflecting on words created by fear. Calling in vain to unseen ears ... Thinking now that the shadows were real. Spoken in prayers seeking to make a deal...
Now I lay me down to sleep ...
Frantic words of instilled fear, wondering whose protection I beseech ...
I pray to god my soul to keep ...
On bended knees, some nights with tears, asking for tomorrow time to be near ...
If I die before I wake ...
Hoping to dream in vivid colors of pastel reds, purples and green, in the shadow with
fear of hands unseen ...
I pray the lord my soul to take ...
Understanding, reality-knowing that life is not always clear. We move between the
shadows of our instilled fears ... Still calling in vain to unseen years.
(March 28, 2006) | SLJ
STRESSLA LYNN JOHNSON WAS BORN APRIL 9, 1957 IN PORTLAND, OREGON. HE HAS WRITTEN POEMS AND JOURNAL ENTRIES AS MEANS OF HEALING. STRESSLA IS A MEMBER OF THE OSP EDITORIAL BOARD.