Whispers Of Spiritual Self
I am the wind before peaceable calm.
If I stumble blind, my mind speaks esprit,
Seek and finds, critiques and will define me.
I stem out and bathe in its breathing balm.
Purifications rain drains through crave roots;
Regains dulcet petrichor smells, restore
Impressions in my mind of ocean shores,
Rainbow prism refracting radiant shoots.
Shadows beneath the canopy of trees.
The sway in the tall emerald meadows,
Coverlet ferns, and climbing vines that echoes
Through and stray, like butterflies and bees.
A thought of inner joy, an anagram
Of my spiritual self is who I am.
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2020
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