Looking deeply into pieces of what I was.
Perusing the mosaic of images
That linger in my eyes.
Shards of all shapes an sizes
Moments holding steadfast
So vivid, rich and rank.
This is no wading pool
The depth is great
And the capacity is only fathomed.
It all pulses, sparks, chokes and spits.
There is no hemorrhage
This is all fine
Make assertions
Pound them deep into reality.
Each strike resounds
Like a blacksmith in a cave
Molding shifting
Creation.
Flames that had once receded
Deep into the pit of a forgotten temple.
Stoked sudden & silently by a mere shift of its outer mask
Breathing new life/light
into hallowed grounds.