Friday, August 29, 2008
. index .
each with a new dream attached with a thread
of soul's breath and raven's dreams.
the tree brigade whispered, 'not long now'
as the horses murmured with impatience.
the periwinkles ogled the poppies.
so coyly they often play.
dance with me, forget-me-nots, and find
our better days
our sunworn fingers plucked up our past
and made offering to the
last of the snow's great child.
the cold tears rained down the mountain's face
the joys, the winds, the life, the death
of each spring and winter's embrace.
the rush, the breath, the pulse raced on
along the stony lane, past our bygones
to the place where peace welled full and clear
a time of change, the eagle's whisper.
and we cooled our brows
in the waters of the past,
crystalline with futures dancing at last.
and out to the deep, where pure truth lives
swims the sun's golden fingers
urging to forgive.