About The Blog

Arthor Journer is my pen name.
"Arthor" comprises "art" + "Author" while "Journer" defines the journey that I was on and continue to travel.
In this blog is the emotional byproduct of this journey.

"Rites of Art" is the title because it is my "writes" of passage.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Before the Beginning and After the End

Before the beginning and after the end,
I find myself inside out and outside in.
Flesh dancing heart singing hosanna,
Mind drinking raindrops as if they were manna.
Feel like my soul is pregnant yet my hands given birth,
For my mind and spirit rejoice with such mirth.
Their spectrum of kaleidoscope thoughts on a silver screen,
A reflection of emotions planted and fields seen.
Time a fragment of elliptical journeys through space,
Yet it is also a measurement of gray and lines on my face.
My words are seeds that are borrowed deep in fertile soil,
The heat of tomorrows wishes cause my blood to boil.
Concentric waves return to where I was dropped in the lake,
Shores grow and undulate as my thoughts become awake.
The sun gently kisses the lips of my budding morn,
This future mirages and silhouettes within my soul are born.
These offspring born in the summer will move and thrive,
Follow the path predestined and make dirt come alive.
Thus this ethereal game to eventually win,
Here before the beginning and after the end.
Eaves leap and soothe the aching of the scorched shores,
Exchanging sand , shells and seeds from the ocean’s floors.
The clouds would fly the winds grow if they chose to bother,
Yet still the dreams expand and are cuddled by their father.
But there are some dreams whose reality is marked by chalk,
There on the concrete obscuring the path my soul walks.
Ghosts still whisper in the vaulting nights,
Telling stories in sounds and movement of lights.
My skies echo the limits of my manufactured tomorrows,
All these raindrops of joy wrapped in sheaths of sorrow.
The forest offers smiles as my feet venture off the path,
Leaves crumble and branches break under weight of wrath.
Yet they still welcome the seeds that fall from my brow,
Beads of sweat that flow from yesteryear to hear and now.
They form a river that flows far beyond the horizon,
It expands and reveals the things I have my eyes on.
This journey takes me to where I am going and everywhere I have been,
Here before the beginning and after the end.

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