Layers
I am rock, I am sand. I am land layered. There is land not everyone gets to see. I listen to the voice inside whispering, “I don’t want to live without love,” :
Layer 1:
On the outside, beautiful:
Sculpted white, balanced and square jawed.
Blue eyed and a body to die for.
How often has that been the ticket?
Too often he realises.
An object to be admired by the world.
Layer 2:
Just under the skin, superficial:
Wanting to please and be pleased;
With himself, insufferable.
Lying ways are skin deep.
It’s just talk when its talk,
Light still shines through from the outside.
Layer 3:
There is less light, more reality.
The hurt of childhood is of no use;
Mentors that were tormentors,
harry potter abuse. What if all
Children have it in one form or another?
Get over yourself and don’t let it surface.
Layer 4:
The thinker, Rodin. Measured weight
Of thoughts that want the surface.
A deeper place, protected and beautiful.
Her thoughts dot her existence
As the stars the infinite universe. She smiles
At their varying degrees of brightness.
Layer 5:
The brightest of all layers. Only love is here.
Love encircles and nourishes and deepens
All the connections she sees around her. Love
Smiles, knowing that she cannot resist coming
Back here again and again, a deepening vessel.
Every moment of love makes the next one possible.
Layer 6:
The untethered soul. Free of the bonds
Dictated by the surface. Free of
Terms and places and things and labels.
Freedom to be her true and best self:
a nakedness of soul unmeasured and password
Protected. “Belong to yourself,” she whispers cheerfully.
Layer 7:
Infinity lies just beyond, there is no counting
Layers here. The poet’s desk is black,
The penned words the colour of the rainbow.
If it were up to the poet ,
All places and layers would look like this
And she would turn the inside out
and let the outside be the last thing we see.
- By Michael Stolt
