Looking to the East
Surging burning Fires Spirited Song
Holding warmth of summer’s spiraling tune
Crunching of the leaves afoot delivering autonomously — falling from the tree of life transfigured ascetically, whilst collapsing sounds of wind inflated memories — once known, forgotten spoken truths, frozen in the tracks completed the ones moreover not yet taken.
Deliver this soul — humbled by a play-on of words, battle’s fatigue between the player’s mix — right and left, lost and found beneath the crisp, frosted dew left behind in the airy night — falls to the presence of winter’s dream — shadow-filled disturbing thoughts sitting in the cold ancient dwelling place not fit for the weak in spirit.
Presently the veil of starry skies — ripped open to the guidance of ancestral beings, knowing of things not studied by daylights chaotic tunes — of another sort — out amidst the fields of tranquility filled with ever-changing budding fruits nourishing with vitality.
Ask them neither how they came to be nor the plagued foreboding inner truths — leading to this moment in time — instead, looking to the east, surging burning fire within — knowing confidently we are who we are — no explanation necessarily exchanged.
Winter is coming — foretold by wisdom bearing calls to inner-workings — enters the cave of knowledge, gratuitously gazing at valley’s death delivering blow — at the heart of sentient’s alike — holding the warmth of summer’s spiraling song — lifting the spirit into the darkest of nights.
With a familiar sound — night falls echoing songs — the return of the Hooters telling tales of aviary flight — not the triples or doubles d’s but my brothers and sisters guiding me. Who cooks for you — screeching and howling from barn’s hidden space— the hooters return.
Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.