Secret longings
For shadows filtered, resplendent over high peak, emerald hills and azure sky.
Awakening to breathe in the air of humanity, to taste the sweetness of baby’s head on my shoulder, gentle whispers, and the outstretched hand of long ago laughter, now come to drive me home again.
Joy in the flit of the butterfly’s wings, winds over sweet blossoms, a veiled smile upon my face as I remember the invisible drafts that I would float upon in fantasy.
These wide open spaces, wondrous sanity found among evergreen boughs and scented wind.
A silence pregnant with expectation, the possibilities found in the reverberation of strings seeking fingers, whilst this dreamer plays upon the full atmosphere of spirit found amongst the crevices of broken hearts and lonely ears.
To reach out and stroke the soft fur of kittens, an image of sweetness as they have yet to be born, their friendly mother my noonday companion.
Sweet water fresh from the filtered stream, through rugged mountain peaks. A taste left on my tongue, ephemeral sweetness, a reminder that there is soul in everything. Still waters in my cup, somehow missing that wildness.
Longing for friendly darkness, soft grasses to lay upon and gaze out at the stars in wonderment as the fresh wind blows through my hair and the silence of crickets in their hidden hollows reminds me of sweet dreams to find.
For shadows filtered, resplendent over high peak, emerald hills and azure sky.
Awakening to breathe in the air of humanity, to taste the sweetness of baby’s head on my shoulder, gentle whispers, and the outstretched hand of long ago laughter, now come to drive me home again.
Joy in the flit of the butterfly’s wings, winds over sweet blossoms, a veiled smile upon my face as I remember the invisible drafts that I would float upon in fantasy.
These wide open spaces, wondrous sanity found among evergreen boughs and scented wind.
A silence pregnant with expectation, the possibilities found in the reverberation of strings seeking fingers, whilst this dreamer plays upon the full atmosphere of spirit found amongst the crevices of broken hearts and lonely ears.
To reach out and stroke the soft fur of kittens, an image of sweetness as they have yet to be born, their friendly mother my noonday companion.
Sweet water fresh from the filtered stream, through rugged mountain peaks. A taste left on my tongue, ephemeral sweetness, a reminder that there is soul in everything. Still waters in my cup, somehow missing that wildness.
Longing for friendly darkness, soft grasses to lay upon and gaze out at the stars in wonderment as the fresh wind blows through my hair and the silence of crickets in their hidden hollows reminds me of sweet dreams to find.
Annie- I love your writing but must take exceptions. ephemeral with souls? no. lasting and forever, I hope the sweetness.
ReplyDeleteAnd I don't want the stream filtered. see-there's that purist view again. disease me away, I want to drink it raw and wild. Once again you played it safe. had to use the word "filtered"
but love the beauty of it all! ~rick
Tsk, now you must tease me... but yes ephemeral souls is a sad idea.
ReplyDeleteI re-wrote this and somehow lost the sense of raw and wild with the word filtered. Yet I meant to evoke the image of drinking water wild from the high mountain stream. (So I re-wrote it again)