thoughts
The humming bird
and silence calls
around the bush,
we circle all
unspoken words,
the bird chirps on
the thread is spun
—before truth is sung
not all that's same
rides the same train
the looking glass
the mold is broke
and truth appears
walked—and unyoked.
I heard the tick, then the tock the wind blew and time moved without a sound or bright lights reliable, consistent, on the stroke like...
It's been days now with uncertain skies and gentle mists awakening me at dawn. Oh bliss, permission to enter the abyss to write a poem...
It's natural to flourish, to yearn to be Like a tree, a plant, a flower, reaching, growing, toward the sun sometimes even taking great...
コメント