The Poet’s Path


In the end, these words,

like birds fly away,

rearranged another way,

burned up into smoke

to be filed in the sky.

Or maybe a generation

skipped, will stumble

on a poem or prose,

and dance across

its heather, softly

opening a tender ear,

while fragrantly

dissolving in ether.

But if that shall never be,

It won’t be the end of me.

As I write, these words

smooth over,

a rock unpolished,

to soothe a weary soul.

It is my path of Love,

a practice in spirit

made right and true,

bringing me ever closer

in the divine countenance

found right here with you.


~ jeffrey vionito


picture by:


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s