Could It Be

Could it be, that the Earth is the Heart

Of a solar system, swimming,

in a void made of art?


Circling the sun, the source, the bright beacon,

Of light, life, and warmth,

And you know what I’m seekin?

Answers to questions we’re raised not to believe in,


Like “Why do we dream?” or “What’s with this sleepin?”

Or “Why do words matter?” or for that matter, Matter?!

Are these such strange requests, amidst all the chatter?


So could it be that EARTH and HEART

Are only an H away, kept apart?

A Heart, kept intact behind a bone solar-plexus,

An Earth in a system, a solar spun nexus,


They connect all these creatures, ever looking outward,

When inwards they struggle to find their own worth,

And in words lie the path,

To both death and destruction,

But also to birth, and to love’s co-construction.


A heart, of Earth,

Allowed to beat freely,

In a chest of pure flesh and bones,

And mud and dirt and stones,

As I shift these perspectives, objectives, and tones.


Could it be,

That the thoughts we believe,

Are really just spells we unconsciously weave?

The locus of focus, the phrase “hocus pocus!”,

Our words shape the lens of the worlds we can see.


With a wand for a tongue and our voice box the cauldron,

We contort our realities and even our children’s,

By smothering kids with our shoulds, don’ts, and can’ts,

It’s no wonder some people end up with these rants,

About how the world never gave them a chance,

Or how humans who look different are no better than ants.


And it’s no wonder that words carry such power,

That they fuel nations to hatred in under an hour,

And the future turns into the Tarot’s dark tower…


But… could it be…

That there’s magic abound?

On a planet, alive, syncing up with the sound,

Of the birds and the bees and the urge to get down!

In the dirt, in the garden,

Where I first came around.

To the sweet smell of flowers,

to the verb and the noun.


To my mother’s sunshine laughter, humming a tune,

As she says, with a wink, that it’s bound for the moon.

And she tells me:

“we’re bound here, on this planet, alive!

And doing our best, without knowing why”


And I try to believe her… I’m doing my best,

But it’s hard to believe with a gun to my chest.

And I tell the man,

“Please! I’ve done you no wrong!

My words are my truth, just go ask my mom”


But the sad truth is a mad truth,

When the world seems unkind,

And the word goes unheard by those unaligned

With themselves, and their values,


They’re too deep in the grind

To look in and discover that the fear’s in their mind,

Implanted by cultures too distracted to find

That each day is a choice, a decision to love,

And trust in each other when push comes to shove.


For no one gets out of this lifetime alive,

It’s a certainty that so many try so hard to hide.

They assume we endure life and die here, alone,

When the truth is, our words and each other are home.


So now I’m speaking to strangers,

To lovers,

To brother,

To non-binary humans,

To mothers who smother.


And I’m still learning, still growing, still using my words,

Still suffering, still thriving, still waiting my turn

And winding my way through conversations with drunkards

Who stumble over jump-ropes of speech, between rug-burns.


Could it be that we are victims of none?

Only convicted in mind if the right spells are sung?

Through things taken personally and hung out to dry,

In the same sun that feeds us,

We ask ourselves, “Why?”


Why am I afraid? Why even try?

Why do mace and lace have adverse effects on the eyes?

These spells we weave, however ill-conceived,

Hold the power to change a life.


The power to mangle, to chokehold and strangle,

Self-worth on the edge of a knife.


If only we’d listen to the words being sung,

By muses and foxes, and trees being swung,

By the winds of forever, beating their drums.


To the rhythm of syllables, sung in a chorus,

By two lovers, alone,

Unlost in a forest.


Words woven in woolen fingers of love

That connect our soft bodies with the spirit above,

And the spirit below too!

For we’re all of one spirit,

Just dancing a dream,

And speaking to hear it.


Yes, the words we weave are webs indeed,

And if spun with the care of a spider,

The sky is the limit, with all of us in it,

To be done with these human dividers.


And yes, it is true,

that words spoken by you,

have given life back to the dead and the dying.

And since that’s the case,

share some time and some space,

and some kind words, without ever lying.


For the magic we seek from drugs and from potions,

Is already within us, in our bodies, the oceans.

So take caution with language and how it is wielded,

For the word can leave hearts feeling broken and shielded.


And lead to a curse-word being put on your name,

As another voice blames you for all of their shame,

And the cycle repeats, as curse words accrue,

And you start to believe that the problem is you


So remember dear child of this magical Earth,

That all humans have hearts, that all humans need worth.

And if using our words means that we get to choose,

Will you choose to bring love?

Or will you choose to abuse?


This Earth.

This Heart.

They’re one in the same,

In this holy moment, free,

From the shackles of shame.


For I’ve come to see that there’s power in me,

Another young human, just grateful to be,

And I choose to speak out a spell,

And it’s FREE.

What are you looking for?