Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I could never get to the bottom layers....
crawled around a lot on my hands and knees
skimming the surface of hunting and gathering
always on the prowl for true love, how stupid
when I didn't even love myself

there were no keys hanging on hooks in the kitchen
to unlock the stalag cells, no manuals on the shelves
how-to- books with spines of steel, no color-by-number
outlines to secrets everyone else seemed to know, no maps
to the buried treasure where X marks the spot of redemption

there was only stumbling around with sleeping masks
unaware even, of the absence of light til the moment
I'd walk into the wall and the blood would run down my chin
that I'd wonder about another way through the barriers
that kept me a prisoner of my own creation

but friends, journals, lack of a viable plan B, and luck
finally tuned all the chakras to drama-less breathing,
to the wonders of stillness beyond the lost ponds, it was there
in a clearing of the dense wood, rays of sunshine burnt the cataracts
of stolen youth, that I could see the magic of being the sky

good book title
good book
(title poem is fantastic)

crazy good read, SAW...