My love’s soft water laps against my heart
Wearing away the wearying walls
of an old energy – a force that no longer thrives
Time allows erosion of pain, and wooded hillsides
We cling, like the trees.
We fear.
But as the forest fire must take the trees for new life to
spring,
So must we let go of the eroded soil of pain. LET her
walls crumble!
LET them fall, long before Jericho…
No trumpet’s blare will breach these walls;
They’ll be gone ‘ere its arrival
Breathe…. Deep… moisten your insides with freshness
Dewy springdrops ‘pon leafy green rain
Dense and soft the misty mist of the baby ancient forest,
primeval
Soft rustle of ‘corns, not far, shimmers the glade
And as the single proud standards
sported ‘pon their noblest of noses
So the bud, the single tender bud of baby ancient self does push
its sweet pink head through life. Itself!
Again you can see your soul reflected in the pool from which you
stop to drink – and stay, locked with highest self in a gaze of recognition
Works of hugs present their sacred selves through tendrils of
love twisting greenly in your arms
And round yourself go those very arms
And as you wrap up in a loving gaze with highest self in softest
hug, you become
And clasping shoulders of your very own, with the gentlest tug,
up you joyously pull!
Up! Up! a magic beanstalk of a soul!
That catapults you into Whitman’s
Wing of Galaxy, the Plato Place,
Shakespeare’s Own Idea of Perfect
Paradise
Penned in your footfalls on the earth and sky.
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