Category: Poetry

With every rise of the sun
I find myself unsure
Of why my eyes even open
To endure
The smaller stories
In this longer-running show
Where all the bad actors
Carry their trophies home

Good morning to my ceiling
The walls
The window that looks out to a tangled mess
I’ve come to accept that it’s meant
To block my view to the
Greater waves in the west

But it doesn’t

If I soften my focus
It’s here that oceans appear
And authentic voices wake
Where justice rings out
In a lost yet familiar grace
Wrapped in a frequency
She delivers me
To a holy flood I can’t explain
Except to say
That Divine Law
Will reign

In the outer-world script
I’m aware my lines are gibberish

So I am cast
As the crazy one that makes no sense
A target for the pain that remains
Hell-bent
On damning the rising seas
While fear takes hold
And binds them to the enemy

Still I breathe

With every rise of the sun
My eyes still open
And even though
I share your stage
I know full well
That I am not the play
I am the waters in-between
Every predetermined scene
I am the words that disturb
The comforts of your sleep

Consider listening

I don’t know how
But I know
The greater show
And the birth of a greater role
Lies waiting in our wings

Dedicated to all the powerful goddesses on Earth. Thank you for being here now.

© 2019 Eileen Meyer

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Koyopa: (n) lightning [Momos]; inner soul (receives supernatural messages)
from the Language of Mayan K’iche’
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