"sorcerers" poems
You thought I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,
Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.
**** you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.
And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you.
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|**“lead into gold, good into dear, mortal into immortal”
(where poems come from)”**|
you charged me
with crimes three times three,
sorcery and witchcraft and doing god’s work
plead guilty three times three
not that I was successful,
but a complex, candied marvelous failure
not in my possession, the sorcerers spell,
my dross and wordy dregs all sit sidelined,
perchance perhaps,
if you search with a leaden patience inhuman,
you might just find a minuscule golden vein there’d unmined
turning good into dear, an “anyone can do it” miracle,
when you whisper with just one kiss those forever words,
don’t be afraid, say it low and slow, I love you,
and
“I only want to be with you”
and dare it to be become dear
mortal into immortal, an order tall, for one knows his
hiding places for all too human pockmarked weak,
but having been charged and found in guilt,
no one proffered evidence but they wanted a unambiguous
unanimous verdict and proof is such an old fashioned truth notion
happy accept your accusations and since confession is
the best soul medicine, with glee, here and now reveal
how immortality is achievable
breathe poems constantly instantly throughout
the orifices in the skin cells and
pore’d orifices you were god given;
it is how we immortals communicate
with what cannot be seen,
yet drunken heard when spoke aloud
taste the poems in and on tongues you can’t comprehend,
the sounds fly skyward after infiltrating your eyes,
then you can see your own immortality anointed rising
all nonsense you plead,
indeed,
only immortals truly cherish and envy the
human ability to create
nonsense, the place
where poems come from
*******
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
Headline Story:
Sweet old lady found dead in oven;
Science and Medical:
Prince develops cure for narcolepsy;
Gardening and Leisure:
Giant beanstalk wins first prize;
Duckling takes honors in beauty pageant;
Entertainment:
Sorcerers apprentice: You're Fired!
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
She was always a chameleon soul
Black Orchid
Eyes, shadows, vulnerabilities
Of heroine chic,
Juxtaposed with an embracing
Self
Of mutual
weirdness
Meshing voices from
The past
Nostalgic memories for
Behind the camera
A lady photographed
A younger self,
Mirrored reflections of
The lady she had graced
Into through the
Ages,
Where contemplative deliberations
Iconic wonders, flashed through
Her mind
With each click the metamorphosis
Click;
one
two
three
Twiggy, Edie, Kate
Transformations; a sorcerers magic,
Contradictions;
body
mind
soul
Mirages amidst reincarnations
Never a remnant of the same
For, the lady behind the lens
Unseen
A ghost veiled in black;
The Black Orchid.
© Sia Jane
Dedicated & written for my darling friend Cara <3
For she shall know love <3
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
My mind's a map. A mad sea-captain drew it
Under a flowing moon until he knew it;
Winds with brass trumpets, puffy-cheeked as jugs,
And states bright-patterned like Arabian rugs.
"Here there be tygers.-" "Here we buried Jim.-"
Here is the strait where eyeless fishes swim
About their buried idol, drowned so cold
He weeps away his eyes in salt and gold.
A country like the dark side of the moon,
A cider-apple country, harsh and boon,
A land of hungry sorcerers.
Your mind?
--Your mind is water through an April night,
A cherry-branch, plume-feathery with its white,
A lavender as fragrant as your words,
A room where Peace and Honor talk like birds,
Sewing bright coins upon the tragic cloth
Of heavy Fate, and Mockery, like a moth,
Flutters and beats about those lovely things.
You are the soul, enchanted with its wings,
The single voice that raises up the dead
To shake the pride of angels.
I have said.
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The skies are blue and the clouds look fluffy.
The air is crisp and the water is chilling.
The mountains appear to touch the sky
and the leaves are rich shades of green, red, and orange.
I walked along out of service train tracks that cut through this mountain. Literally, through it.
The tunnels started on the West Shore of Donner Lake and followed the ridge of the mountain all the way to Truckee. I hiked a half a mile from the highway up to an opening in the tunnel. For a few hundred yards the tunnel was riddled with broken bottles and worthless graffiti. As I walked further in, the garbage began to disappear and the graffiti became thoughtful, artful. It became darker and darker until I could only see the circle illuminated by my pin flashlight. On one spot of the wall someone had written the entire first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone. Someone had drawn a white line. Just a white line and I was so intrigued by it. People wrote stories of the lives. "Im kevin, my gf broke up w me now im gay" or "Im pat. i got dmt and then i got aids" and "im kaylene. thats it."
Someone sprayed a **** pipe on the wall of the tunnel and it was green. They paid very good attention to the crystals in the bowl and the smoke rising from it. A young girl with black hair had her lips on the pipe and she was breathing in. Written under it was "Remember, remember, the 5th of November."
Some one else had sprayed a cowboy. One half of him was black outlined with white and gray detail and the other half was white outlined with gray and black detail. Next to it was written "Childe Roland to the dark tower come."
Some one else had sprayed a devil. He was red with pure black eyes. It was signed "Self Portrait."
Halfway through there was a drain and creepily enough a faint light was shining from underneath the thick grates. Above it some one wrote "I stashed my **** here for three years."
Under that someone had wrote "Gateway to hell."
The rocks jutted out in straight lines.
Some were smooth and others rough.
The mountains cleansed me.
They wiped away some of the grime
this small city has polluted me with.
The crisp air exfolliated some of the
smoke from my lungs and the water
pulled the dirt from my skin
and the hike massaged my sore
feet and the graffiti swept through
one eyeball and took all the garbage
in my brain out through the other
eyeball. The mountains saved me.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
In the Old World, those of our kind had to keep ourselves hidden and work our magic behind closed doors. We were to be secret sorcerers. A mysterious kind of folk. We were accused of darkness and exiled to despair if our covers were blown. Thankfully these times are changing.
With this New World Order, our fate is changing for the better of us all. And more importantly, the fate of the earth and the cosmos beyond. While dark magic is something we are all capable of portraying whether intentional or not, there is so much more good that can come when aligned with the magic and mystique, connected with the powers of our earthly just as our heavenly realms.
As above, so below is a saying we all know.
As it is in the heavens it shall be on earth.
Peace and Protection are granted for all who believe.
Gifts from nature given as tools and symbols so we may live a life of leisure and ease.
For now, we are teachers shown through storybook tales. To prepare you for your future in magic that comes with being born into these great times of change; for we will one day pass our torch to you; just as you will to every indigo, rainbow, soul-healing, spirit-weaving, wondrous light-working child.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
Lovely elves and charming witches
Wizards with great power
Sorcerers and dragons
I've read of these for hours.
Woodland imps and fairies
Their faces may seem pure
But these creatures are spirits
And they are meant to lure
Spirit guides and shamans
Fetishes and feathers
Burning sage and totums
Beating drums together
Werewolves and vampires
Voodoo dolls with porcelain faces
These creatures are monsters!
They have ***no redeeming graces!
HALLOWEEN IS WICKED!***
Yet it is for SALE!
Kids dressed up as GOULIES
*And DEVILS WITH A TAIL!
**SATAN ISN'T BEAUTIFUL!
The devil isn't CUTE!
HE'S HERE TO DESTROY US!
Yet we dress KIDS in his SUIT!***
Yes, they are romanticized
The source of tons of ink
I've even written of them
A fact from which I shrink!
I repent of doing this
And as popular as they are
I will now delete them
I will no longer share.
I will not praise this "beauty"
Or perpetrate a lie
I've had some trouble reading
Now I know the reason why
These deceptions grieve The Spirit
My holy heart. My SOURCE.
These ideas are of evil
I will not endorse.
I could have done so quietly
Never made a show
But you need to read this
*You really need to know!*
I may seem a fool for writing this
You won't like this share
But if I'm now unpopular
I DON'T REALLY CARE.
And, Christians, be ye HOLY!
Think on something nice!
Think on God the Father
And The Lord Jesus Christ!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/27/2016
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
A kiss from a firefly can cure a cynic of their cynicism, make the nonbelievers believe, help the hopeless grasp the illusions of hope, and even reveal the marvelous maps of the mind; because a kiss from a firefly (and what a brilliant buss it is!) steers one into a sloshy slumber that smears the line between deepest desires and fanciful fairytales:
The feisty fairy fights nymphs, trolls, goblins, terrible ogres, nasty pirates, talking elephants, one gypsy (mainly because she stole some pixie dust in attempt to fly away to her next destination), and two silver cats, who could read her mind and she did not like that; but the plucky pixie never did steer clear from the twinkling glitter-bugs who held the key to Wonderland:
She drifted off into a slumber and she dreamt of owning all the knowledge that could possibly be held and she dreamt about flying on the back of a dragon and she dreamt about walking on water and tumbling down the rabbit hole and she dreamt of sincere sorcerers and mischievous mermaids and pink penguins who could speak perfect Portuguese and she dreamt about falling in love and being a child again and she dreamt that her father could walk her down the aisle.
Oh, the wonderful whimsical kiss of fireflies killing the beliefs of nonbelievers who dare not dream of dreams, it’s a slippery slope for those who can’t dilute delusions—a glorious path of the glowing!—leaving them to wake with hopeless hope.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:20 AM UTC
Sleep.
The vast world of dreams, leaden as oceans deep.
In the depths we find our dear prince, but this time—dreamless—in a place of ether and temporal energy.
Woven throughout a nebula are paths of light leading to distant gates and far off doorways.
Plinths of stone floating about… Orbiting…
On one such path our prince finds himself, his means of arrival… not remembered.
If this is not a dream, then how can I be drawing breath? Where am I?
The luminous pink and blue gasses impart nothing. The twinkling dust scattered all around only twinkles.
This place is beautiful… and has such strong magic, on a scale I have not seen before.
Calypso looks to the path on which he stands. Made of energy, it winds, curves, dips, rises, and connects with many others. A few end at what appear to be large doorways… portals…
He starts to walk down the path.
With barely three steps taken, Calypso senses something… a slight breeze… he stops and turns to see a storm.
A massive squall line of dark rolling clouds with sporadic flashes of light emanating from within.
Thunder, ominous.
What brought that about?
No sooner had the question formed in his mind than he realized the speed at which the storm was traveling. In a mere minute, it seemed to have moved a mile closer; another minute and he will be in its clutches.
Tracing geometric patterns in the air with his hands and using words of enchantment, Calypso creates a sphere of magical energy around himself.
The storm, an unstoppable force of magic and nature, consumes the prince.
The shield, conjured by one of the most powerful sorcerers, holds.
There is darkness…
The clouds move around Calypso’s magic sphere, lightning flashes nearby and everything is lit for an instant. A moment passes, and the hairs on the back of his neck start to tingle…
And a massive bolt of lightning connects with his shield, turning its blue hue to fiery orange—and another arcs into the path close by—Calypso, eyes closed, is thrown from the path by the shockwave.
Through space, the prince flies…
On stone, does he land…
His shield, gone.
The hungry wind starts sweeping him from the plinth—lightning flashes—he finds a hold and grips the stone with all of his strength.
But such is the strength of the wind… Is this it, then?
And in an instant, the storm passes, the wind moves on…
Silence.
Calypso pulls his battered body to the middle of the floating stone and stands. His wonder, greater than anything he had felt before. Moments pass… he senses something…
A slight breeze…
He turns and looks.
Out in the distance, in the void between the stars… a silver sail.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
My group therapy ended today
Termination is such a violent word
For such a soft thing
Termination is harsh
Reminiscent of layoffs
And Austrian-born California governors
No. This wasn’t a firing.
It was a funeral.
Round robin reflection at a somber dinner table
An exchange of platitudes and promises
To stay in contact, to be available
And we all meant it. Every word.
But no.
We were demented sorcerers,
Holding tightly to fading magics
Ex-lovers
Trying to be friends
Though it was, ironically, a machine that once said.
“A thing is not beautiful because it lasts.”
And every part of me I found in them
Now is a part of them found in me
Carried in my self-revelations
In strides straight and confident as an honest Keyser Soze.
And though I am a penny none the richer
Today I am indigo.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
From Sorcerers to Hallows and wizards to witches,
These stories are worth over one hundred snitches.
Together in friendship, you'll watch three mature
As they fight for what's right and destroy the impure
These stories will live in your heart and your head
Through the brightest of times and until you are dead.
So enjoy this novel, the first of a few
I promise you'll love them, just as I do.
You'll remember the portraits and the hallways
And from now 'till the end - you will love them - always.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
Poets are assassins
Words wound and ****
Cut open arteries
Spilling life blood
Sharpening and refining words
Honing them to a killing edge
Poets are sorcerers
Words; their incantation
Grammar; their arcane ritual
Sentences turn into spells
Transforming you into someone else
Teleporting you to a distant place
Few poets are prophets
Gifted and cursed with visions
Vessels to be filled
Conduits waiting for lightning to strike
Poets are codebreakers
Deciphering life's enigmas
Translating experiences into words
Skilled technicians
Finding the right words
For exactly the right moments
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
I have never seen a mermaid-
With her fins so slender and gentle;
Or when you swim so weightless in water-
Any of them could have done with their bristle.
Cindrella could not have looked so ugly beautiful,
When you ran down to me leaving those landscapes behind;
And in the course you have broken the straps of your silver shoes,
Glow and shadow on your face were contemporaries and dutiful.
I have never imagined an angel ****
With their ******* hanging for becoming stiff with magic,
Comparing your ****** to a sorcerers cave without any logic-
And you release fireballs from your canon eyes crushing me so rude.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 11:03 PM UTC
Fold and fold - endocrine leaf lets the wind
Unwrap and re-blend; the butterfly begins
Cram, dance; a league of sin
Reckon the world rolls away - The End
Death swept into the recycle bin
Smiles are sorcerers freckling the skin
God is the mandible and chin
And She is the rhythm that turns me in
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
The awakening of an empire
ruthless and almighty
The coming of a king
Whose heart is condemned with evil
and the selfishness of his ways
knows no boundary.
The land that is cared most by the people
is leeched by the dictator
The energy of the youth
is harnessed for prosperity
and there is no hope there
than a miniscule of humanity.
A hero rises from the valley
to whom that he seek
The tyrant of the kingdom
who is infamous in many degree
to **** him is a must
so that justice will be upholded
and so that peace will return
to the valley of the forgotten
For the ne'er-do-well, he knows
For his sorcerers had prophecise
that one day a vivid light
will destroy the darkness that thrives
So he had gather up the best of his men
to strike terror to the hearts of millions
in hopes that maybe
they will finally get rid of them.
So a battle had burst out
between good and evil
one fights for rightiousness
and one fights for corruption
in the end one shall stand
and one shall fall
but to the despair of everyone
lives will be drawn
No sacrifice, no glory
That's how the saying goes
as the war is finally over
the king did not show
for he had flee to somewhere else
T'is a lesson to all
That surely, when there is a great rise
There must be a mighty fall
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Any challenge, shall I meet,
for you and I to be together.
Horned demons,godlike sorcerers,
I fear not time, I fear not weather.
Travel, will I, through hills and urban plains,
through freezing snow, and scorching heat,
through the far African rains.
I assure you, fair lady, as I genuflect my knee,
I will be faster than the vultures, in the sky,
Faster than the eagle, with wings spread free.
So, patience, glorious woman,
the day, soon we'll see.
When Apollo's Golden afternoon is blazing,
Together, our souls will be.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
Beauty Is As Beauty Does
A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red
If enough people are interested I will continue with this series as a Book with chapters this one being renamed ...Beauty Is As Beauty Does-Prologue .
Beauty Is As Beauty Does
A Story by Eclipsing Moon-blood red
If enough people are interested I will continue with this series as a Book with chapters, this one being renamed ...Beauty Is as Beauty Does-Prologue.
In the dark recesses of the void, we call our universe a cloud was forming, one devoid of morals or intent.
The molecules came together under the thought processes of a malignantly minded old sorcerer, blended with his hope of a lasting endowment of centuries of learning and spell castings.
He was searching for a one to carry on his knowledge and spells of potion and this cloud could carry out the espying in secret as he wished...under cover of dark and thought...unless a spirit was descerned by another caster of woven potions.
Today in time was measured more by centuries and decades as the process took... its form...questing for the entity as this universe and others had been targeted for his type of Magic...sorcerers specialized in their trade and like all good practioners he had his fireworks shows with energy beams and potion majic mixed to control and manipulate the certain being he was working with...for power was the name of his gambit...the access and addition of as well as controlling in the sphere of a society...let’s just say he got his jollies from using others well earned energy..What they worked for...he stole and reveled in the process.
It just so happened that today...his cloud was in the vicinity of a planet known to the Magical world as Earth...Terra...this being inhabitied by beings in many dimensions and frequensies...it seemed to home in on a child...being birthed as a logical consideration ..So that; further study was merited
.Marking this beings location in the foothills of a hidden mountain range ...in the Tibetan range and former birthplace of a religious teacher known as Lord Buddha...Siddhartha...and a nice long history in the telling of the Monks who followed him...this time a twist a counter turn of the incarnation was a Female child ..Looking to be imbued with the same set of majical powers...and the beginning of another time and space of reign as the first...excellent time to lay claim to the mind and teachings of this ...ONE..Of Beauty.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 12:50 PM UTC
Pass on
Select the time and contemplate the goals
My golden Goddess, my Queen
The sanctimonious moments of life
Those you live for
An intrinsic grove confiding in the glistening sun
Lovers strolling down the dirt paths **** without shame
It is natural here; joy and laughter fill the air
Our brains elevated with naivety and innocence
Ambient sounds and kind voices are all we hear
Select the hymn from the long, long ago
The moment is here
“Be free” they chant
Under the sun
In the shade of a cryptic tree
Ship out here again to the grove
Roam through the cool pastures
Join us
As we dance to the overture
Dark eyed underlings
Hissing impulsively
Madhouse notions enter the man’s cranium
We are gathered at this junction for this vigorous cross breeding
Of the immense love and the prolific lust we have for life
And extend an olive branch to those with a dim acceptance of death
Bent on devouring mortality
Floundering to pump out a miracle
On a spree of existence
Cruising behind tinted intentions
Melodies crumble sheepishly
Ah, divine originator of life
Allow us immortality
To escape our awful fates
And plan a mutiny against Charon
We beg for silk and satin intimacy
Evil wicked sorcerers of the soul are refused iconic eternal life
Gentle menders of the spirit may bask in the glorious groves of timelessness
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
Post from the unknown
Deliberate awkward scrawl filled the page what did it say what could it mean it had the feel as if you
Were looking into a dark shroud you were filled with foreboding that was tinged in disgust but still
Intriguing so it always is with destructive forces bolder than normal existence it toys and is playful just
Enough to seize the outer fringe of curiosity like the outer edge of a pond that holds your weight builds
Trust offers possibility of greater fun farthest from the shore beckoning all you need is the courage to
Venture out just a little more maybe danger and death or maybe just fabulous fun who can resist such
An offer light recedes darkness told in wonderful mystery what boundaries can be trifled with the pit
Will dissolve the known ever has been the quest to find out what more exist at the end of self lies the
Beginning of excitement dreariness for once and for all will be consumed with thrills intoxication
Boundless will be described in ultimate detail like ancient writings that need to be deciphered and you
Alone hold the key walls with designs that are foreign hold clues to hidden passages that lead to private
Chambers blue white light glows from one your new birth is being told the next the rarest green you
Have crossed a great frontier just with a few steps the next red seems to seep from a black center your
On the greatest adventure or on a terrifying misadventure you have struck and entered the midnight
Hour the quizzical always find their way here welcome you not in a maze you have friends druids
Witches warlocks sorcerers and your intimate guide is no less than Edgar Allen Poe himself welcome to
Halloween enjoy the night as well as a vampire might it all disappears with day lights blinding sight
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC
I’ve been to the shop
to watch it
being made
unchanging and unchanged.
Sorcerers in snow
white helmets,
reading my childhood
and all the places
I have been
with wooden spoons
carved
from Longview timber
seasoned in regression’s oil,
added limpids to the mix.
See through taffy in the candy kettle.
I once gazed
into the window
at everything
I was too young to buy
then spied a nickel
in the rubble of the gutter.
Found a way to dig it out
and went in.
The gutter went in with me.
Sunlight has a way of hiding things
That glitter in the darkness.
Sugar’s haze
obscures so many
arrow signs
but you can
taste it with each breath,
and some is not enough.
How much to eat
Rises with the tides of time
And falls with its forgetting.
Without another penny
there must be some other way
to backtrack
to the longing sated
and find the peanut in the middle.
ljm
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:32 AM UTC
We are the dream world.
How beautiful the world would be if there were no great men or saints and virgins and wisest or the kindest and the mercifullest and the sorcerers or the scientists or the philosophers or the murderers or the rapists .
As in, if none knew each other.
If,co existence was a celebrated event.
Everyone on earth packing, and moving, and settling, more than a dozen times an year. Government computers relocating everyone in ease, and earning and sheltering. The main idea of survival was to celebrate all of it. Or, better be an entity of the whole earth. Pack and move and change the setting whenever an emotional turmoil emerged. This routine was just not, not possible, but proved out to be the best world any a baby can be born into.
So darned welcoming.
The world today that we have is anti-life. Borders forces and military and taxes and police all to guard, none to serve. Today you are reminded that you'll die any moment, for each moment of being alive. And then, maybe your body can be eaten by better wormes or burns.
Nobody wants to celebrate life. Forget about the pandas ******* a li'l lesser this year or about signing the campaign against government to support anti-natural planning campaigns, or that lesser people are celebrating the monstrous virtue of pity to hang another's redemption by feeling proud in his disgusting a state. Or perhaps you might say global warming, is amazing. Its deadly. This ******* earth has been subject to all kinds of Celestial, rapists, murderers, cheap killers, dons, mafia, assassins , corpses and lunatics. And, these notorious ones being of space, increased their strength by thousand folds and got **** names too. Asteroids, meteors, meteor showers and space explosions to name a few.
And, to assert it, earth has been surviving all these unguarded events for so long of a huge chunk of its existence without we chipping in.
See !
We are insignificant.
Try, living your own life.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
In the alleyway of sorcerers
and tricksters
One step back, ten deepward
away, away, from sun and lime,
forms, thickened smoke, gone
all the familiar, but fear
an industrial hammer
beating to a pneumatic heart
pulverized, powdered glass
Now lining the string to my kite
soaring, one among the shapes
dotting the kaleidoscope
Retreat!, I can cut.
bangles, once they were
I gave you
Hooded, darkened, enveloped
in hushed hymns and
chimed mutterances
come hands held out of cloaks
that I accept for friendship
cold, as the heartless should be
erased, gone among
the shadows, lost a young soul
tottering at the edge of a cliff
tremor that ripped the heartland
blocks of stone, elevated
icons of hope and love
lining the pathway here
disfigured so beyond repair
even moonlight cannot restore
once a thinker, a poet, a scholar
where peddle the whispered
offerings of an underworld
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
*Take a country pond , transform it into the raging North Atlantic
Make a curled leaf riding its surface the doomed Titanic
A Reed is a Sorcerers wand in the right hand
A rock becomes a shooting star hurtling into the ocean
Walk home through cotton fields filled with surprise
The house , a Castle waiting for the King or Queen to arrive*
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC