i still try to remember
to take my boots off
at the door

my feet are wet
from walking in the rain

i leave laetoli footprints
on the pine floor
-like the first man

trying to walk upright
but can't seem to
get it straight

There's a lot of empty space
in a house
so full of quiet

wishing for thunder.

r ~ 9/5/14

To be what they want
Is to win a battle
To be who you are
Is to win a war

Language
has come & gone
without
sophic discernment
for the fluidity
of her archetype
or
the stain of her touch
she-wolf in pain
but in love
in wine
or poetry
she becomes
a hundred thunder blessed
tongues
smoothing stones
in river beds
yet to be ******
newly hatched moments
in time
have missed the salvo
of rain
turned instead
pixels to temples
hypnagogia learned
a new dialect
oh yes
language has come
and is gone...
she slit our throats
whilst we dreamt
in the bliss
of ignorance

© Amber Dawn

There is a forest old as hillsides
tall, majestic, dappled shades
fall on ground beneath the silent
gnarled defenders of the glade.

There they stand in ancient splendour
many souls have passed their way
often used as welcome shelter
from the heat of summers day.

Sweet the air they breathe in chorus
our life's breath their lungs provide,
soaking up our daily poison
so that we may live and thrive.

You seas of men intent to clear them
citing progress, peddling greed
tearing roots from precious mooring
laying waste to nature's seed.

**** the beauty of a landscape
displace creatures for your need
rupture fragile ecosystems
scar the earth and watch it bleed.

To you I ask a simple question,
as I see the land bereaved.
What need has man of all this progress
when he can no longer breathe?