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.