August 21

Ether Of Ego

Poetry

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When someone you love is diagnosed with dementia as a caregiver your own life gets turned inside out as well. In fact probably even more as the caregiver. But really who knows? All of us are having our own experiences through our personal realities. Who are any of us to say what's real or not real in any given moment for anyone else. 

For me poetry and music have been consistent ways to examine emotions and personal growth the experience gifts me. Recently, I have found myself, once again, pulling at the threads my emotions through poetry. Some how by placing one word next to another I am able to find peace with grief. But even more powerful, I have been able to unravel the gift of the journey. 

Here are two of my most recent poems:

a cardinal rests
it’s frozen reflection
~ encapsulated
your colorful life stilled
in a lake of memories

image of guitar from the neck with the poem Sing Me overlaid.

 

Ether of Ego

In the mist of creating self
blindness shrouds our gaze.

Dare we peek out from behind
the ghost of our own machine’s cloak,

what we may see is a world full
of ignorance and bliss.

Political hopefuls “ill-informed” about basic biology
attempting to govern little more than female bodies.

Dictators uncaring for diversity’s spice
jailing the out spoken as they rise.

Wars leaving the scape of humanity
broken and barren in their wake.

In the ether of ego we become larger
than the life we own.

Comedy raising the spirits of the disheartened,
comes to rest in our idyllic hearts.

Everyday heartaches and triumphs
make us heroes by circumstance.

Stories awaken and enlighten
the civilizations in which we live.

Looking past the ether of ego we see
through to the other side of our fog.

Dare we peek out from behind
the ghost of our own machine’s cloak,

what we may see is a world full
of our damnations and creations.

War and peace lodging together under
one sky, on one globe, in each heart;

night and day illustrating light’s binaries
dappling our filtered vision;

left and right standing as opposites
all purely for our entertainment.

Dare we peek out from behind
the ghost of our own machine’s cloak,

what we may see is our own blindness
in the power of creating self.

©Delaina Miller 2012

About the author

Creator of sounds. Poet on an energetic journey with words. Explorer of Frequencies.


 

Delaina J Miller

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