That Wild Flickering Flame

Beating drums always murmur inside my heart it seems, and I write of my aboriginal ancestors found in dreams; oh, the reality of dream and reality in life are thin seams. And though my life has been a ravaged garden of weeping, of grief and loss that never seems to stop creeping; it is into my poetry always and forever be seeping. The love of nature is where I find my tranquil peace, among green beauty my utter pain I release; even with a winter blanket my roaming does not cease. And I have found a group of people exactly the same, like me, within their souls there is a wild flickering flame; and we care not if our words ever bring us fame. ____________________________ February 19, 2019 Poetry/Rhyme/The Flickering Flame Copyright Protected, ID 19-1116-268-02 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym. Submitted to the contest, February Wk 4, Standard sponsor, Brian Strand First Place