A Hawks Call
Gentle winds, drift
drift gently this
hawk above the waters,
brown like the clay
of earth's marble realm.
I saw the dance of crows
as I rose, far beyond reach
from the sight of golem eyes
of haughty men breached,
by the lies of serpents and swine.
How divine was the moment
when a hand lifted my brow
from the depths,
to the east
where my true call was,
a basilica of wonder
weaving the four winds
weaving worlds.
Dreaming into another life,
into another realm
I do best
than walk the streets as a beggar
in a world not my own.
Copyright © Timothy Phillips | Year Posted 2023
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