Sunday, September 8, 2013

Cryptic Red

What is it that I do not know... 
Have the raven's all sung in the coir from ghosts?
Or is it angel you believe in... 
The river streams a silence filled with inner voice
My voice connecting with silence and the tree's in the forest

There are no altars here 
Yet we kneel below the petals in the grass, 
Almost conflicting senses 
Of over fear and over joy. 

The scent reminds us of stainglass.
There are no altars here 

Just an open field for you and I. 


To connect without departing 
The reality is not the reality, what you once were
What we all were... 
In contrast to not living, the burden seems small.

The holy angel's pray in the dark 
while earth is capture by one beating heart 
The heart that is not dying...
Still has a soul... a place outside us.
The holy angel's pray in the dark

Outside my window 
The colour of their glow
The biblical sky behind them
With no halo around. 
But a look in their eyes...
The winter steps frozen over. 
Where part of my soul had past through 
The fogy window.
Seeing the pieces of us,,, 
As the years went by, the age grew older.

The elderly past, and so do the young.
Some that never were, become. 
And those that were... continue always...

Outside my window
The colour of their glow

I hope she comes back.


To connect without departing. 

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