Altar regrets; please don’t alter my texts –
or delete my last request; as lust requests
you do what feels good, but it all becomes
tomorrow’s bad mistake, dressed out in
yesterday’s breath.

At the front of my books – my body language
in bold font is what I’ll flaunt; though at times,
I’m not so bold at being myself...
Physical or digital – spiritual or literal –
loaning some faith on empty days,
loading some company when I feel
I’m moving through life at my lonesome,
feeling loathsome.

But take your time; write your own books if you
want to – just don’t forget the lessons you’ve read.
Despite being blue-ticked in person, my presence
and influence still get left on read...
I can’t claim ownership of everything; crying for
it all, till my eyes are painted red.

As each good word you’ve received is a divine gift –
to defy the rifts; to train and define your divine gifts,
learn to prune the sickness from your vine so new
creation can live... value the chance to forgive —
make every reason solid, for choosing to live.

The art and the craft are one. The practioner, an Oracle, the Wizard of Words. Constructing spells, conjured in the sequential scribblings symbolic of sounds. Letters to words to sentences. And in so doing, transmits a magic, a beauty that is communicated and understood by the Soul. Anyone can write down words, but there is that certain intuitive dexterity required, to coordinate the Souls song, to bring something special, magic... not just for the exchange of information, but exchange of emotions. A giving of oneself. A True purpose... To be in service. To guide. These are magical beings, the Sages of the Pages, who Ive only recently rediscovered, after one of them, was right under my nose for so long... She brings pure Magic, she is pure Light,... You know... She is one of your Tribe, She is a Poet... I know this, because everything she did, was poetic. The way she moved, the way she Loved, was pure poetry.. and I interpreted it as Magic.. because thats what Poets are. Gifts of Light...