Saturday, March 22, 2008
Going home.
Long winding marble halls
light at the end of the tunnel
flowers all along
Serpent power
Like crows flying
a flock
across a gray sky
Hollow like a cave
deep resistance in the moonlight
Hollow
the wind rushing through
it
like a flute
empty mountains
The tips brightening in the
light of the rising sun
a pale yellow covering
broken cliffs
The sound of hollow
aggravated moment
stands still in time
Thunderous flutes
bombastic like church organs
echoing and thundering
recking the peace
Swallows fly high
like butterflies tumbling on the wind
The hollow emptiness of my wounds
loudly reverberate
through the echoes of time
Aggravation tumultuous
movement
gliding forward on the path
slowly but surely
a straight line ahead
focused goal on the gold pot
The bricks lay still awaiting
my return
A pile on the mountain top
moving in time
adjusting to now
In a circle
breaking in and out
the flowers crouch to receive me
Trees strong against the wind
Never moving but to open
the gate
One person may pass, no others
already declared
A perfect reunion
of past and present
Guarded through time
a perfect palace
surrounded by peace