synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,
all the wind's timbre
is hushed;
overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..
alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...
whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng
maybe
such evolution
as this—
is reversing...
Ouroboros
touched wondrously
by spoken wind,
urgently
i need to search
for an intimate kiss
metamorphosis,
another incarnation
that will turn me
back into a frog—
a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like stardrift
ashes
a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir
the call of the wild
sung in the wind
wild is the wind
© march ― 2016
Note: From the 1st days of spring 2016;
listening — hearing, somethings don't change
just came in from a windy evening walk,
with a whelming sense of Déjà vu
note: The Ouroboros often symbolize self-reflexivity or cyclicality, especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself, the eternal return, and other things such as the phoenix which operate in cycles that begin anew as soon as they end