The scents
the smokes
the spices that singe to perfection
I see my reflexion
A tossing ocean of blues and greens
the glidings of an embassy
unbeknownst to the bright world
the sea. I see my ocean
the sands approach and
island girl climbs
from shimmering lights
bright as sun reflexions
off the water.
Long tresses with thistle
and grasses
she passes the palms
Bare ankles soft pedals
Of padded feet on sand and stone
Roam
Just enough and not too much
time and quiet and space and the roar of surrounding
Survive the fruits of
strength and the climb
the herbs
the healing
scents
smokes.
the spices.
Island
companions
and treetop
roofrock
sounds
of night
healing leaves
grasses
and herbs.
Sweet drips
of fruits
that uncurl
in prying
palms.
Seeded beauties
with beads
of sunset
pearls.
Shells of milky
rainbow and
clashing
slate
and the
kick back
fire sky
night side
beats.
The beats
of
roaming clouds.
En-route to
the buttermilk
moon.
Purple
Arabia of
the Horizon.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
Quiver, waste. away.
Or just a warm neutral.
Temporary wastes. of time.
That don't seem so temporary
In this rattling
frequency.
Frequencies gliding
through this space. this time.
That whisper words
my signs
the signs.
I read and forget
I should let
Them guide me
to steady grounds.
Just don't let
go.
Be found.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
I know that with enough inspiration
I'll soar.
I know that if I live enough I'll be ready
to die
I know that with the questions answered
I'll be at peace.
Who knows what this
Empty jar
Of honey bitter water of roses
Can release?
One day we'll see
But only when we set it free.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 8:37 PM UTC