Saturday, December 29, 2007

Bill's friends.

A flock of Ancients.

Heaving and laying still
the bamboo branches leaning
in between the pine

as if not to break up the calm
whispering of tomorrows affluence

Painting greeting cards
in my mind of days to come
emerald green horizons

A flock of wild, limitless beings
congregate in the grove
like egrets on the shores of the river

Ancient eyes looking all around
as if this planet old as their home
was a newfound place

Beautiful and strong like angels wings
they hover then disperse
as the guardians of the land swoop in

A wound in the sacredness torn open
revealing the blood of the old wars
Light and shadow now merging as one
dancing like sun rays on a field of wheat
hiding and dipping and surfacing again

A tear in time
shows the ancients the good hearts
of the new ones
yet flighty in the depth of the old

Like rock
they finger their way through time
Like air on moss
they shaped this land
into solid beauty

an everlasting fingerprint of God