What a brutal sun that assaults the cliffs
Where cacti and mescals dare to abide!
Here and there, dozens of petroglyphs
Decorating the canyon may be espied.
In large nesting circles neatly drawn
In evaporating wisps and bold squares
In a sun to give thanks for every dawn
In little starbursts and stick figures
In a deer, in an eagle looking strong
In a war scene kept by the ancients –
It remains unsaid – time is not long
But to a murky end, everything drifts.
Categories:
mescals, life, time, wisdom,
Form: Rhyme
I know a place of silence
Where one can roam about -
Touch the height of peace
And watch the morning crown.
It's a place well-hidden -
Where no worry survives -
Where no thoughts break in
And living hope abides -
Where seraphs may be found
And joy is my raiment -
Where clouds meet the ground
And keep the dewy haven.
It's under mesquite trees -
Over their medusan roots
And in mellow sun rays
And their assuring proofs.
It's by the pale mescals -
Under some tender stalk -
Between granite boulders
In shades of ochre and chalk
And among the cactus
That you'll find the place.
Categories:
mescals, nature, places, religion, silence,
Form: Rhyme