Time Between the Teardrops

My wine is laced with the taste

Of a half sung song—

And tastes of time;

Time between teardrops.

My song is laced with

A courage I don’t know

From where it comes

And tastes of time

Between teardrops.

Courage often escapes

From my heart

Like a bird longing

To be free of all

Masks on kindness,

On generosity,

On freedom and

On love.

It is like a poem

Put to pen

Nudged into hand

By something


Yet as present

As you and me.

Often I don’t feel


Or good enough.

Often the words

Moving against the page

Seem coming from

A zillion galaxies away.

Often a light grows


Even on a grey

Close to winter day.

All this in the time

Between my teardrops

That say


To my heart on fire

Sitting in the soul–

Soul sitting

In God’s Hand;

God sitting

Where consciousness


Like the birth of a baby

Never severed

From the cord

That has no thought

Of separation—

Or the womb

In which it floats in.

Reflection:  The light and sound has its own plan.  It is my sister, my companion, my lover and the sea I swim in.  My tears flow like the ego letting go of its grip and becoming tame, saddled and worthy of the ride.

©Roseroberta 11/11/2012

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