Before I judge, I wish I would
consider things not understood
’til someone looks beneath the hood
who isn’t prone to misconstrue
the chassis blemishes I see.
Then nothing but the truth of you
could shine like new.
2018 Mary Boren
“My forgiveness is the means by which I become aware of the light of the world in me.” – A Course in Miracles
When a harbinger of horror stalks the hall
and the silent sycophants embrace its call,
if you feel your spirit caving
to the voice of doom enslaving
tattered vestiges of courage,
come and stand behind the children
who believe the world’s worth saving.
See the light.
When custodians of chaos overreach
past the sentinels of liberated speech
and the sun goes undercover
where the creeping shadows hover,
bring an instrument for digging
through the wreckage of illusion.
Hold a lamp for one another.
Free the light.
Though the oracles of anger spread their lies
to the detriment of people they despise,
meet the hate and halt its churning
with the self-assured discerning
of a watcher who has witnessed
the capacity for healing
in a love that’s ever-burning.
Be the light.
For the weary world is longing for the day
when the universal truth goes on display
in its unimagined starkness.
Neither powerless nor sparkless,
each of us can stoke the passion
for our destiny that’s dawning
as divisions born of darkness
flee the light.
2018 Mary Boren
Easy does it when you try
separating fact from fiction.
Remnants of a blatant lie
justify an interdiction.
Things are seldom what they seem;
faith felt genuine, but was it?
While arousing from a dream,
easy does it.
In my childhood I believed
truth’s as black and white as painted,
unaware that few perceived
shades of grey in sweetly sainted
sentries of unripened minds.
Playing nice, I learned a smile could
cover certainty that blinds,
in my childhood.
Far above us, pundits pounce;
preachers prime the Sunday sermon.
Both are eager to denounce
scrutiny from lowly vermin.
Truth lies halfway through the mist
where denuded dogma hovers.
Yours and mine can coexist
far above us.
2014 Mary Boren
As truth revolves, its facets are revealed
in changing light. My muse awaits, concealed
in shadows, steering clear of Father Zeus
(who set a slew of noisy daughters loose
in poets’ heads).
For only in the stillness, where the threads
of myth and fable intersect, can reds
and yellows, mystic blues, and shades of grey
be woven into words that light the way
as truth revolves.
In poets’ heads, illusion’s snare absolves
the writer of the story — fact dissolves
in smoke and mirror’s slanted tell, not show.
But when Lamplighter comes to me, I know
she speaks no lies.
If then, and only then, do I arise
to paraphrase, with freshly opened eyes,
the broader bearings of the lessons wrought
from living into truth, each tender thought
2011 Mary Boren
Image by ceoln (CCL)