Sunflowers In Space. Darcel Craft

was painfully aware that my perception created my reality.

      So, I would spend my free time

      Lavishly decorating the rooms of my mind

      With thoughts of higher things like love, death, and immortality.

      And yet, here I am, a grown woman

      Still trying to find myself.

      I’m currently engaged in the intricate art of making time for myself.

      Candlelight, table set for one

      I’m learning to wine and dine myself.

      You see, I’m still my harshest critic,

      Why can’t I just be kind to myself?

      I can easily sing the praises of the quasars and stars,

      But I can’t see the beauty in my own constellation of scars.

      I blame it on having the untrained eye of a junior space cadet,

      Perpetually distracted by a voice inside screaming,

      “ARE WE THERE YET?

      Are we there yet?

      Are we there yet?”

      On good days I can hear my Father’s voice inside, he says

      “Sit back, relax, and just enjoy the ride. You’ll never arrive while you’re physically alive.”………. And now I understand,

      There is no such thing as “finding myself”.

      I’m on a journey to daily remind myself, that as a man thinketh so is he.

      I think, therefore I am.

      The creator of my own destiny.

      Self Portrait

      She wore deep scars and missing pieces,

      Hardened skin, and weary creases.

      Can you see who the masterpiece is?

      She closed her eyes and saw that She is.

      Heliotropism

      Wild as the flowers in her hair,

       Free as the soul in her eyes.

       Creator created. Creation creating.

       Wild hair. Free eyes. Flowering soul.

       Something new is being created.

       Can you feel it?

       Hair stands at attention

      Fueled by possibility.

       Can you taste it?

       Lips speak to a parallel universe, alternate reality.

       Life and death are in the power of her tongue.

       She’s hungry for change, so she speaks.

       Can you smell it?

       Like fresh rain falling onto an open field of flowers.

       Her spirit knows the scent of His Spirit.

       He speaks, she hears it on the wind.

       Limitless possibilities. No fear.

       Grow. And Go.

       Go to grow.

       No fear.

       Wild as the flowers in her hair,

       Free as the soul in her eyes.

      Thirty-Three

      she is wild; she is wind.

       she is free; she is fire.

       she is you. she is me.

       she is sorrow carved so deep, only marrow remains...

       she is sadness clothed in skin, poised portrait of pain...

       she is earth; she is river.

       she is free flowing form.

       she is water; she is nature.

       she is softest flower, open.

       she is tightest bud, closed.

       she is pollen, wandering.

       she is honey, stuck.

       she is mother; she is bearer of life.

       she is free from death; she is spirit.

       she is being; she is becoming.

       ...What She is.

      Painting A Poet

      Smiling in the dark.

       The name of my greatest work of art.

       Painting a moonlit portrait of self-love.

       A Poem in progress...

       Embracing the process...

       Realizing I am the prize, in this

       Candescent contest.

       I’m now free to use, the messiest hues

       Of Burgeoning Browns and Blossoming Blues.

       Every color can be used

      In the melodramatic masterpiece, that is me.

       That. Is. Me.

       This is me.

       Smiling in the dark,

       The name of my greatest work of art.

      Green Prison

      Do you see me?

       I’m Hiding among the trees,

       Unsure how I’ll be received if these leaves

       Expose me.

       Opposite of Adam and Eve.

       Drawn to the beauty of nature

       Obsessed with trying to retrieve

       What’s been lost.

       Regained His presence

       But not the essence of spirituality.

       Still Ignorant to the duality of this earth life.

       I hear His whisper while meditating underneath a tree,

       Reconnected with my Heavenly Father

       but I’m still searching for me.

       Unmasked. Undone.

       No energy left to run.

       Unmasked. Undone.

       I’m still Worshipping the Son.

       They think I’m worshipping the sun.

       Breath in. Exhale.

       Acknowledge, accept, oh well.

       Either I climb down, until I’m free

       Or just keep hiding in this tree.

      Sunflower Seeds

      She taught me.

       Shadows create beauty too..

       No longer afraid of the darkness when I’m with you.

       ..When I’m with her.

       ..When I’m with me.

       Self-imposed stillness.

       Self-Love, richest symphony.

       Self-Love, my soliloquy.

       Simply loving every piece of me..

       Wholly Unafraid in this silence..

       This Holy Alliance of Spiritual and Natural..

       Embracing the temple..

       Empowered by the actual..

       Entire Kingdoms living within.

       Earth Suit returns to dust..

       And Still,