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Writer's pictureA Too Powerful Word

William S. Peters, Sr.


William S. Peters, Sr., aka ‘Just Bill’, is an award-winning global activist for humanity. His poetry and prowess have been acknowledged and translated across the world. He is the founder and chair of Inner Child Enterprises, Inner Child Press International and the World Healing, World Peace Foundation. He utilizes these vehicles along with his poetry and other writings to champion the cause of consciousness, peace, love, acceptance and compassion. His personal perspective is that ‘life is a garden’, and we must plant seeds of good intent, light and love that we all may harvest a sweet bountiful fruit. The ‘by-line’ Mr. Peters has coined for Inner Child Press International is ‘building bridges of cultural understanding’. Achieving this vital connection is his inspiration.


Me and the Devil

We have danced together

Many times

Over the years . . .

Partying,

Laughing,

Singing songs of inebriation,

‘Cause I was drunk on him,

And he was mesmerized

By me . . .

I think he wanted my Soul

We actually got to know each other

Quite intimately

Over the years . . .

Some times I did his bidding,

And at times other,

He accommodated that

Of mine own

Know that I was always weary,

Well, most of the time,

For I had heard all the rumors

That he was not one

To be trusted . . .

But that did not matter much

In years past,

For he always paid attention

To such things

As my . .

Vanity,

Ego,

And vanity . . .

And vanity .. .

And vanity

And of course

My delusional insanity

And other inane aspirations

He was good at providing

The sensations

Of grandeur-isms

And other schisms

That gave me my

Temporary fix

Of false transitional euphoria . . .

Why he even falsely

Will glorify ya

If it serves his purpose

I look around me these days

Of awakening,

And I see so many

Of his disciples

Who have been taught

At the same school

I graduated.

Yeah, I got my diploma,

And upon the time of my becoming,

I framed it

And hung it in

That unlighted closet

As a distinct memory

Of my days with

‘Me and the Devil’

My vanity





Freedom

We use this word

So cavalierly

With no regard to

What it truly means

In respect to our relationship

With one and another . .

Our relationship

With self

And our world

I have this driving need

To understand,

And perhaps write something

That resonates

With my soul

And that of others

About this mischievous anomaly

We call ‘FREEDOM’

Can some-one PLEASE tell me

What exactly does it mean

To be ‘FREE” . . .

Does it truly exist,

Or is it just that

Which I said,

An anomaly

That dances in our imagination

Teasing us to pursue

That which truly

Does not exist

Is the bird ever free

Because it has wings

To soar above the world?

Is the petal truly free

When it withers and falls

From the flower,

As does the leaf

From the tree?

The brook that runs,

Becomes a spring,

Becomes a river,

And flows into the basin

To be embraced by the ocean . . .

Does it ever know of freedom . . ..

Does its wild meanderings

Through the wood, meadow and terrain

Ever speak of such things as Freedom ?

. . . or does it ascribe only to the duty

To be as it is ?

Sure, conceptionally

We could claim it,

Name it,

But the chase of it

Defames us

And violates the false trust

We have bestowed

Upon this figment

Of our imagination

And our beliefs

Are we truly FREE ?

Are we free to do

As we please,

When we please,

To whom we please,

Where we please,

Why and how we please,

Or is it all just a mind-game

That teases us

To entrust others

With the direction

We travel

Upon this path of life?

Freedom

Is it a right,

Or the remnants of what is left

To edge our souls forward

To gather its stripes

That we may pass through the gate

And begin our cyclic journey once more

Pursuing . . . .

Freedom . .

It has its consequences

It would seem that the only thing we are ‘Free’ to do is . . .

Surrender!






Love Musings

Her beauty fills my eyes,

With a knowing

That exceeds hope

The fragrance of her presence

Inebriates my soul,

And heaven once again

Has revealed its self

Unto my past longing

That I now know

What it is

To be fulfilled

Utopia

Is now the place

Where my heart dwells,

For she has completed

Her ‘move in’

And rearranged

All of my

Emotional furniture

Casting out

The shadows

And remnants of dust

Of what used to be

Euphoria is but a word

That pales my elation

And the cessation

Of my used-to-be angst

It is a stated certitude

That whispers of such things

As flowers, butterflies

And smiling mirthful children

And smiling reflective old men

Remembering the days of their youth

Yes, I am happy,

Beyond the concept of joy

For such little things

Are defined

Not by my thoughts

Any longer,

But by my ‘being’

If this is love,

I am certain

I lack nothing,

For she has

Filled the cupboards,

The cabinets,

The closets,

And the storehouse

With her essence

Her presence in my life

Is no longer a want,

For she is here

Within and about me,

Everywhere

With her . . .

Love Musings

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