that I wish

that I wish, 

I had feathers, 

in the mind as consciousness.

and thoughts, 

as the breezes, 

that I glide on in passing.

and warmth on the skin, 

as intimate self-conversation.

and my needlework of this day, 

as service for others.

that I have tears, 

that travel through lifetimes, 

for their arrival.

that are composed of, 

un-relinquished essence,

made of spirals of the heart, 

pursuant with homeland,

as an endeavor of seek, 

together with struggle, 

scrutiny and surrender.

that what made me,

is the evidence of communal. 

yet this lifetime set astray,

belonging to the oversoul of many, 

yet worlds apart.

the consummate of a oneness, 

is in the shadow of incomplete.

and the quill of living it down, 

with the ink of blood,

that I do as belief.

but I sincerely doubt 

its staying power in my mind.

what comes to me, 

to say in words, 

ever changes.

whoever of me,

that is holding the truth, 

doesn't profess it.

for me, 

belief is a constant weave, 

without a tapestry result.

and so in conclusion,

everything in livingness, 

is ever on the move.

what is of mindfulness, 

better be the juice 

and not the savor. 

forever the witness, 

to decode, 

this act-out forthcoming.

when did ethical become a duty, 

not know-how of the heart?