The Dance

The Dance

I often get so frustrated

That there isn’t an infinite amount of poetry in me

I know I need to write it

I can feel it in my chest

I can feel it even Deeper than that

I can feel it in the places where spirit and soul do flow

Yet there is no bridge between here and there

There is no way there I know

Or is there?

Could it be that infinity really is within?

Could it be that there is a creativity that never has an end?

It could be

I guess anything could be

That’s why we have words like “paradox” and “tension”

That’s why there’s so many unknown dimensions

Things that even quantum physics has a hard time describing

I have the choice to be stone solid or imbibing

The deep red wines of mystery

I have the choice

So though I might not have a language for what is within

I can keep dancing with it

I can keep going back and drinking from the well

I can keep breaking out of this small prison cell

Named, “This is the way it has always been.”

I can make the choice to be wild and free

I like this dance with eternity

1/7/17

Wreck it

Wreck it

In a place of freedom

I have the liberty to dream, to think,

To act

Which is why so many of our wondrous ones are enslaved;

imprisoned, silenced, tortured, wounded, scarred...someone, something

Doesn’t want them dreaming, creating, living...

So who is there to help them if not the ones who are already free?

What will the world look like when there is no slavery?  

It will look like the place I want my children and grandchildren to live

What creative genius is locked behind walls of evil filth?

What bringer of hope and life is shackled under oppressive chains?

Whose daughter has been stolen?  Whose son?

What child’s life has been stomped on and beaten all for the name of a moment’s pleasure?

In a place of freedom

I have the liberty to dream, to think, to write

To act

It is time

K, Duane Carter 7/13/13

Is. 61

Isaiah 61

I sometimes wonder if there is no greater prison

Than the one I’ve built around myself

I wonder if I have worn a mask for so long

That I cannot even recognize myself

I don’t realize who’s doing the thinking, the talking

Nor the acting

I’ve locked the doors, and never had a key

Or if I did, I’ve long lost it

Back in the dreams of my childhood

Now those are just mists over distant mountains

As I grab another chain and place it on my feet

I hear of a distant Wanderer

One who knows His way

Yet no one else ever knows

I wonder if I lifted my voice one time

Loud enough to shake the earth

I wonder if He would respond to the tremors

Or would He rather smell the scent of angels

Instead of darkened earth

And tattered flesh

I feel a nervous silence in the masking

I feel the chains cringe in the asking

I immediately know

A whisper released will raise the dust

Healing oil comes from the rust

While a fragrance of hope begins to fill the air

I just released a whisper there

For that is the only thing I ever had

The earth does tremor, but

It isn’t my voice that did it

Rather it was a distant roar

And then a rumbling of the running

Something, someone running

While the earth shakes

And the sunlight comes through the cracks of the wall

The shaking is breaking my prison

Suddenly I am quite afraid

What am I supposed to do when I get out of here?

It seems this is the only place I have ever known

Who am I supposed to be when I am released?

It seems this the only way I have ever known

The rumbling is now an earthquake

I can’t even stand on my feet

And the last thing I remember

Is everything I’ve known collapsing all around me…

And the smell of Love…

K, Duane Carter 2-18-12