Saturday, January 2, 2010

Imaginary World

Sometimes the roaring inside flares into chattering,
Chattering wild birds gather into a flock of
forest fire reds, oranges and flames of yellow.
Bird's scorched feathers, hot beating breasts
spit sparks of mental heat
into a curtain of 
steady 
falling 
snow.

Breath inhales silence.
Breath exhales burnt ghosts.

A portal is suspended in the 
dripping stillness of the air.
Wild mind clears as
dark river gods 
penetrate the orchestra
of birds and fire and trees.
With a singular finger a
dark opening is carved 
into the earth
and we surrender our
bodies fully to an
inner landscape.

Time folds open 
to expose our 
own beautiful sadness.
Spirals of deep blue rivers
swirl in intricate patterns
as earth spins on 
her axis and 
welcomes
us home.

Posted via email from hollyfriesen's posterous

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