Beyond What Art Is( Really hoping on a lot of feedback, thanks)

On the last day of June, the upturned
sliver moon emptied its contents into
an almost empty vessel that
was clean and ready.

The man had brought the boy here to free...
and make right with him his wrongs
the path was lined with bearded iris,
purple and white glory, making clear.

There was no more need for hope. He knew.

On bent spine and wounded knees, this native
born not indigenous, sacrificed the four directions
and was given whole dimensions. From a seed
fought over by archaic symbols, growth

happens in between paved cracks and rocky
beds not slept in. Blame has no place in Magick...
even weeds make flowers.
Power is a lifetime of rain, and soil is abundance.

You may not take the city out of this kid, but nature is nurture.

To find a voice in hushed closets, you have to learn to sing.
Tunnels are ways out of darkness, and certain notes
make great lanterns to find your way through.
Hope will get you there, to that place where you know.

Believing is and isn't seeing; it's not that complicated.
Adjusting focus has to do with intentions, learning
how to use want is the right way to a right way.
Voice is a language, so is your heart.

Learning what to read is every bit important as how.

The curse of every child is learning how to parent.
You see, adults are afraid of dark places and unknown whispers
and they also simply need a hand to hold.
In a world full of answers, they forgot to question.

When the adult is brought to free, as is the child
parent has melded with child, creating.
The new moon rid’s the dark fears, and
the sliver moon empties its light into you both.

Cleaning the vessel is work, leaving a little love in it is Magick at work.

Chris Whitenack © 2014