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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