"Nirvana" by Bobby Torpey

I see nirvana,
In the angle of white snow of late winter.
I feel nirvana,
In the supernatural warmth of a baby's smile;
In the sponge like curiosity of a child's eyes;
In his free and easy grasp of love.
I sense nirvana;
In a congress of Human souls;
All committed and devoted to each other and their Earth.
I grasp nirvana;
In the three forms of Human love;
Eros, Filia, and Agape;
All of which are essential for Human survival.
I imbibe nirvana;
In the knowledge of mankind;
In all its dimension;
And in all its detail.
And finally,
I am seized by nirvana;
In a death which comes;
In a form of God given;
Peaceful;
Painless;
Slumber...

"The Spirit of Rebirth" by Bobby Torpey

The well is dry temporarily.
The plain is barren, briefly.
Just as the momentary drought
Of imaginative faculty
Has rendered my mind
A desert of ideas.

The blood is spilled, wastefully.
The bodies are strewn, eternally.
For youth is wealth, and wealth is finite.
And vanity remains a brainless creature.

It learns not.
It is spent;
It is here.

Some of tehem bleed more than others,
And the well is not bottomless.
But for the will of Man,
And the spirit of rebirth.

"The writer" by Bobby Torpey

On a cold, Grey winter's day,
In the middle of a large American city,
In the living room of a large house,
A man sits and waits.
His mind searching for inspiration.
He is a writer, by aspiration, if not achievement.

In his bedroom, pale blue walls and drab old furniture
Assault the eyes.
And a wooden floor streaked with age.
Unpacked boxes line the corner;
Remnants from the last move.

An old Smith Corona typewriter sits proudly on the desk,
right next to the door;
While it's proprietor tries to unblock himself.

"Talk to me about the self" he asks, to o God in particular.
"Talk to me about being and becoming,
"Change and growth.
"And I shall listen with rapt attention...."

"The Joker" by Bobby Torpey

"I think I shall a story" said the Joker.
If my imagination lives, then it will dream again.
And weave tales of unreal occourances.
Tales that will tell some truths, and stir some souls.
And then they will live;
As I will die.

He is the Weaver.
Teller of beginnings,
Middles,
And Ends....

"Freely" by Bobby Torpey

Just freely associating non-freedom,
Just freely believing unbelievers.

Just freely hating lovers,
Of the love;
Of the Lord;
Of the in love;
Of the unloved.

Hate love, love hating;
Hate hating, love loving;
Lover hating hate love loving;
Hater loved hated love making.

Just freely live;
Dying.
Just freely die;
Living.

Just freely associating,
Die livers living,
Or live dyers dying,
Or dead lived die

To live and die,
To love and to hate,
These are real in our hearts,
And nothing else.

Quiet offend, people alive;
Live lives, quiet dead.

And a great few lovers
Are haters of love, and lovers of hate.

Right to write,
Night to write in the moonlight;
Of the sky and the Heavens.

Right to non-right;
Non-right to light;
Of the darkness in the Earth;
And the Hell of suffering.

Mad Leroy in the moonlight.
Spewing of the guts;
Playing in the heart;
Laying out a deal;
Spying of the mind;
Betraying out the soul;
Dealing good for the evil.

Lover of the hater.
Joker of the stealer.
Liar of the truther.
Chooser of the beginner.
Hater of the lover.

"God's Song" By Bobby Torpey

The priestess in the chapel
And her trembling hands;
And her enchanted eyes;
And her enraptured soul;
And the sight of her weakened body
As it sank to the floor...
And the sight of stunned onlookers seeing
In their eyes, a victim;
But in her own eyes,
In her own soul,
Her being was drawn
To a more liberating vision;
it was the presence of the lord...

The law was never passed,
The sin was never committed,
But, somehow, all the Earth seems locked
In hatred's squalid Dance of Death.

No one was saved,
No one was found.

But our savior is already within us.
He dwealeth in silence;
Awaiting the sound.
He stayeth in secret;
Losing himself,
In order to be found.

He stays in the womb of our souls,
Awaiting the birth of our hearts...