mind wanderings on Sunday....
The life she has led in her heart and in her memories is far different from the harsh reality of who she has been. But then she's a poet and they always live a bit off course, they always seem to stand on the abyss calling down, listening for the echoes of kindred souls. Poets can take snippets of time and weave that forever into their memories and become that thing. How often has she danced in the froth of tomorrow while swaying in the melody of an ocean breeze? The sting of salt hits her freshly shaved legs and leaves water patterns laced on her shins.
She also pilots the wings of eagles simply by devouring a dream, soaring towards a sun too bright to look at and yet beckoning like a lighthouse in a storm. She tastes the clouds with her mystical beak and perched mightily like a king on the tops of trees. She flies in her dreams. Not the kind of flying that they show in movies or Peter Pan but more like the soft flow of stream thru the sky, inching forward to the goal and melding spirits with the clouds. Perhaps it is the unconscious desire to be free of the illness that holds us captive here on earth. Or maybe it is because mankind in general wishes to soar.
Young eyes behold a prize that only the heart can see. Her tongue tastes the wines of God and promise to speak only good things. Breath life into today and plant seeds for others to harvest. How difficult a thing it is to plant things in the ground knowing youÂ’ll never partake of their beauty. Like planting bulbs randomly when you are on vacation in October in another state, the flowers will bloom in the spring, even if you are not there to witness the births.
She waxes poetic and finds glee in the flavor of the words.
Truly.
********************************************************
aging
at the edge
of the abyss
calling out and
listening for the echoes
of kindred souls
dancing crazily
on the rim
of tomorrow, face towards
the Son
and fingers
grasping tightly
on the heartbeat of forever,
believing beyond reason
in the finality of faith
The life she has led in her heart and in her memories is far different from the harsh reality of who she has been. But then she's a poet and they always live a bit off course, they always seem to stand on the abyss calling down, listening for the echoes of kindred souls. Poets can take snippets of time and weave that forever into their memories and become that thing. How often has she danced in the froth of tomorrow while swaying in the melody of an ocean breeze? The sting of salt hits her freshly shaved legs and leaves water patterns laced on her shins.
She also pilots the wings of eagles simply by devouring a dream, soaring towards a sun too bright to look at and yet beckoning like a lighthouse in a storm. She tastes the clouds with her mystical beak and perched mightily like a king on the tops of trees. She flies in her dreams. Not the kind of flying that they show in movies or Peter Pan but more like the soft flow of stream thru the sky, inching forward to the goal and melding spirits with the clouds. Perhaps it is the unconscious desire to be free of the illness that holds us captive here on earth. Or maybe it is because mankind in general wishes to soar.
Young eyes behold a prize that only the heart can see. Her tongue tastes the wines of God and promise to speak only good things. Breath life into today and plant seeds for others to harvest. How difficult a thing it is to plant things in the ground knowing youÂ’ll never partake of their beauty. Like planting bulbs randomly when you are on vacation in October in another state, the flowers will bloom in the spring, even if you are not there to witness the births.
She waxes poetic and finds glee in the flavor of the words.
Truly.
********************************************************
aging
at the edge
of the abyss
calling out and
listening for the echoes
of kindred souls
dancing crazily
on the rim
of tomorrow, face towards
the Son
and fingers
grasping tightly
on the heartbeat of forever,
believing beyond reason
in the finality of faith
The Internet could be compared to the abyss - the "echoes of kindred souls" can everywhere be heard.
ReplyDeleteBon & Mal
perfection.
ReplyDeleteckays1967 at 9:13:00 PM PDT Link to this entry
ReplyDeleteThis entry has 6 comments: (Add your own)
Forgive me Christina, but I just found this entry. It's wonderful!
"But then she's a poet and they always live a bit off course, they always
seem to stand on the abyss calling down, listening for the echoes of kindred souls. "
and this one...
She also pilots the wings of eagles simply by devouring a dream,..."
Wow!
Love you,
Mom
Comment from tsgerkin - 10/16/05 11:50 AM
Once again, except for the "illness" part, I felt you might have been
describing me. I wonder how we would get along if we ever met, or if
the parts of us that connect us to each other are too deep to access in the "real" world... Lisa :-]
Comment from lisaram1955 - 6/27/05 10:52 AM
i flew a bit with you
Marti
Comment from sunnyside46 - 6/27/05 8:19 AM
This is among your best.
Comment from sistercdr - 6/27/05 3:54 AM
My spirit soared as you breathed ed your words: you do give life to others...courtenay
Comment from courtenaymphelan - 6/27/05 3:05 AM
Wonderful, especially at your age. I have a kindred poem posted `bout dreams!
Serendipity!!
V
Comment from deabvt - 6/27/05 2:04 AM