Through leaves and
sorrows I crawl
Not miserable at all,
just close to fall
The wind sprays away
its scents of heaven
And windows open in my
heart.
I look at the bloodied
streets in awe
They resonate with my
deepest fire
The fire that burns
darkness like a rusty paper
Which bursts with the
smoke of the Creator.
A broken chord is tuned
by Autumn
Its arrival heard by
deaf souls
Aching to climb from
the bottom
And to be liberated from
their roles.
The paper's shadow pushes them back
As layers of dust hug
each other on their minds
And they become
abundant in the spark they lack
To get the burden of
broken belief off their back.
And He keeps spraying,
but cringing, they hide
Behind the wall of
fear, feeling the need to abide
Still wanting to
climb, being grasped by the hand of their own hate
Easily cut short by
the yellow leaves flying on the wind’s weight.
But the glass of
consciousness is filled with love
Elegantly swinging in
the hand of a dove
As she dances hypnotically
to life’s ups and downs
Dizzy, yet alert, with
no hesitation to the sounds.
As the Sun comes out
and my cheeks are smothered by lazy light,
My eyes become hosts
of joy, cleansed by nature’s might
As the shadows
collapse under the shaky coloured sheets
Falling victims of
themselves, being engulfed in eternal sleep.
Thus the stillness of Creation, sparkling like
a diamond
Is stirred in her
glass with a spoon of honey, timeless
And defiant of
illusions, embracing the Light,
As she gently kisses
innocence goodnight.
