The Master has been amongst us for so long
that our familiarity blinds us like mice
blind a cat from all but its fixation.
Behind closed doors where none can see
a riot of fun goes on with glee
full of silent song and cart wheeling laughter.
Until a footstep is heard on the floor,
a young man comes in right after
and almost catches a chair’s carousal,
the lamp playing like a tree,
then shaking like a woman’s arousal.
The passionate dance of an ashtray,
the spin and turn of his ironing board,
a table pretending to be a stone,
his pen upon it King Arthur’s sword.
But all shifts around in an instant,
he thought he saw a flutter in the air…
but out of the corner of his eye
it was only a curl of his hair.
He sees his room, the mirror, his face,
and all is as he thinks it should be,
everything seems in its proper place —
though nothing is real but the free.


About Blake Steele

I am a poet, writer, workshop leader, recording artist... half monk, half pirate, passionate for Life and Love to triumph in the world. I'm American by birth, but am living in Sweden for a while: writing, growing, deepening with amazing, open-hearted people, as well as developing Wild Words Creative Writing Classes and Wild Souls Workshops around the world.
This entry was posted in Consciousness, Mystery, Nature, Poetry, Quantum Physics, Senses and Spirit and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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