Magic Flows in the Wounded Places


Magic flows in the
wounded places,
brings new life,
growing pains,
new patterns,
new hope.
But the risks…
it’s hard to take the risks.
We’re surrounded by
unfinished things,
always taking the present
and turning it into the future,
over and over and over and over…
it doesn’t end until we do.
Creating courage never ends,
is never perfect,
always full of doubt,
always becoming
—but only through risk.

It needs to be asked, though:
The risks… taken In trade for what?
A chance to feel youth and happiness,
however long or short?
Of course. Love is the only reason to risk everything.
We know the risks,
we know what loss feels like,
and we know what it takes to choose
to love totally, with humility,
to push away the failure of
imagination that
haunts the halls of the
minds of the old.
We just must choose to risk it all.

Time, the value of it,
grows stronger with age.
We live lives surrounded by unfinished things,
Our birth not completed until
the moment of our death.

And yet, and yet….
I welcome
The joyful bubbling flashing insanity
I did not think possible again.
But, there it is,
Flowing in the wounded places,
bringing life,
Insistent, chaotic, full of power
Heedless of ridiculousness,
As careless of risk
as a young eagle
leaping from the nest,
chancing the air.

A new birth of
joy, and hope, and love thought long gone.
I am as 16 again, aching for my lover’s arms,
eager to kiss and be kissed, to
give without thought,
take without guilt,
eager and hungry
for that tender passion
and the thrill
of new life, a new person;
relief at sharing myself,
humbled that she shares in return,
as she touches an aching heart,
and brings it peace.

Unfinished lives,
becoming,
on the cusp of tomorrow, 

until, happy and spent,
we sleep in each other’s arms
surrounded by wonder and content,
odorous with love.

Macbeth
If we should fail?

Lady Macbeth:
We fail.
But screw your courage to the sticking place,
And we’ll not fail.

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