It is late, again, and frankly, I do not wish to continue my previous "Wicked" contemplation at this hour. I'll try again tomorrow. In the meantime, another extemporaneous contemplative poem:
TURNING IN (PLUTO)
I feel something brewing,
an energy, unexplainable.
It seems too dark, too tense,
to penetrate, and yet
I know that coiled within
is a source of unfathomable power.
Do I fear this power?
Do I believe myself to be
stained and dirty? Corrupt?
Do I shrink away,
and fail to see the beauty
that is trapped within?
In all this pondering
of dark and light,
it seems that I have split
myself in two.
In believing I am a monster,
I have forgotten
that I am a child of God.
So, now, I welcome the dark,
because I fear it not,
and in welcoming, I open,
and all is subsumed in light.
All is now right
(as it already was).
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