I like old glass
with bubbles

Pockets of breath
of the dead laid to rest

I break and I breathe and I taste

Their spices
and vices

Kisses from wives
Curses and verses

Songs of themselves
Wine of their wrath

Salt from their baths

Smoke from their fires
Sweet tastes of desire

Shared sighs and cries
Dead butterflies

Air.

Out in the West, a Tale is told
By Wise weathered Indians of old,
Passed down as a Shamans Tale
It told of Guardian Spirits...

For Our Mother Earth and Father Sky
On Sacred Lands only reverent pass by
Those with Selflessness Come through
To pray to Mother Earth and Father Sky

Give thanks for Brother Sun and Sister Moon
Some that the rite goes back to ancient eons
Brought by the Anasazi to all his Children
In praise for what they were given.....

A wanderer Came upon these Sacred lands
With ****** in his heart, and blood on his hands
Father Sky sent his Spirit Hawk as Guard on the Land
His cry in the Sky reached the ears of the Wolf Spirit

A pile of bleached Bones the angry man came upon
The Gaurdian Wolf Spirit Howled out a Warning
As the Man's Spirit broke the Sacred Circle
Bounding the Bear Spirit came to ****

His Claw reached in and took the Hatred from his Heart
But without it the Man lost his Spirit and Began to Die
His death quick but not alone, he landed on a pile of bones
With his Companions He lay, til the day he was just bone dry...JMF

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

I fell off a bridge.

I saw him standing bright and shining.
So  I strode out in his light,
basked in it sure footed burning within
a thousand sons of love,
burnished without by it until bronzed.

The light it blinded me, bound my lips
with love.
I did not look where I was going for I was crazed clumsy by Cupid.

Flying is freedom, falling is not.
Acclerating as Newton's chains pull, falling is lonely,
falling is fast.

The water broke my heart open,
cleansed it cold,
took out the Fool's gold and
covered me in nebulas of dark night.

My eyes were full of cold sharp waterfalls
that made me see sharp and true, inky blue.
My mouth now a lily pad sitting silent waiting for frogs.

But I am Light now. I float. I swim.

They say that there is one
I at the heart of a storm.
This is not true.
There are two.

Butterfly blue and Phoenix ash grey,
The other molten wood full of firefly flicker.
Looking in, Looking out.

Moonlight cord taut between two like a bowline straining
in the tide.
The only glint in the earthly waves crashing, two points the only
anchor.

The treeline stands as sentinels,
Offering crowns to the crescent moon.
The rooted column of soldiers
Witness the slender shadow as it grew.
A thumb sized fairy in its hand,
Bent double to whisper tidings
Of human flesh on sacred land.
That which is sacrosanct
Can not so easily be swayed!
As all the beasts of myth and nightmares
Charge on into the fray.

The knight finished taking a **** against the tavern wall,
The last defence of the realm, children and us all.

Well.....

That and trebuchets,

Spears,

Swords.

All the tools of war.

Far beyond the Forrest front
Pride, The Lord of Man
Forges ill thought plans
Lazily playing chess, cavalier
With the lives of pawns.
Thoughtlessly moving pieces with
Trembling blood stained hands.