hearing

Reconciliation

by lteston

regret

The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.

The stains of love and hate look the same in me and equally reflect the tragedy of my fears-

and I pray for reconciliation.

 

Photography courtesy of Ginny Hunt

1st position

by lteston

20160607_slt4529-197nikCicadas fading hum meets the cool morning breeze

with a call and response litany among the usual flight of birds

except geese in formation against the wind directly pointed

while the lutheran’s sanctioned bell begs their ordered migration.

It is Sunday.  

It is the day the trees dance in 1st position to know Sabbath’s touch. 

 

photography via Stephenltyler.

 

Eternal Life

by lteston

abandoned

Maybe it’s just restlessness

     in the perpetual grind of a broken spirit.

Maybe it’s fearfulness

    in the gasp of life without meaning.

Maybe it’s loneliness

    in want of being home where I can be we.

It’s definitely unstable

    with steps not leading to a lone path.

It’s definitely noisy

   with doubts out-crying a rhythm in dissonant tunes.

It’s definitely me

   in a space holding it all

   in a matrix of twisted becoming

   in quest for a soul – everliving.

 

photography courtesy of Pat Cegan

 

Captured

by lteston

img_2401

I  am so captured in telling of tales, foreign reflections reframing reveal 

fears clouding my sun blocking my view

mind wondering,  narrating a hurt or failed feud.

The sound of my steps meter the beat, linked to the pace of breath and repeat

Then fear unto death strikes from the south

eyes widened with terror, scales fallen off.

Captured no more, my heart in a beat 

gasps with a cry and swallows a scream

free to regret, confess and relive

knowing the now was 

lost once again.

 

Photography courtesy of Peter Corr

Sick unto death

by lteston

26160491741_639493e97b_k

It’s a damning process storing every thought , worry

tucked unfolded mostly

so the space feels empty, sterile to the curious.

No presence or joy

broken soul alone

though an open door of life nurtured love. 

No space for love or hate-tucked unfolded mostly,

muted and muffled by an unnatural shhhh…

 

Photo by Steve Garrington

Love’s silence

by lteston

What I hear is an option. Even in choosing silence- I can hear. I listen….

streetphotography-2212

Sound is a space of being

Sound is a link to a moment in time.

It is tangible, functional, inviting.

As I separate the tones and attend to one over the other I learn and feel and know a new old something.

As the layers stream into my consciousness

I am reminded

I am comforted

I am loved.