Adventure begins at Eventfull_Tide.
A place that destiny becomes,
excited in power that chooses to reside
electric-marrowed,- bare in the bones.
The hourglass stops,- measuring
the interim annexations.
Prime is back again.
Where the waves of the substantial
seduce over the cosmic sands.
Open to possibility all frequency bands.
Become:
Nerve endings, lick-coated swollen
Oathed.
Given the sustenance that drips
down, polished, adorned.
Totem-Statute -borne-_-born-
The source is all and all.
Liquid is the quiet in freefall.
Thick and effortless.
Lubricated by the surge of mindsilver.
The uninitiated- moonlighting a
witness through whispered-
association of secret lever.
The Great Pond ripples of something
impending, flowing.-
In the silver mirror of the knowing.-
The silky smooth ultra wet
welcoming of significance.
Arouse the fogs of ceremony-
the mists of the extraordinary-
are awakened after a long slumber.
To remind once again of something more.
Categories:
oathed, color,
Form: Rhyme
Every morning at the window aside,
I find myself waiting for the sun,
To raise up and melt the snow,
The frost so hoar and numb.
Brooding on my thoughts so long,
Never did they hatch in this icy alp,
So still I keep waiting for the sun,
To watch this avalanche realm's fall.
In the darkness of night, I waited,
With a melancholic lullaby to lull-
The lucid sky to a dreamless sleep,
So the sun can drive in brisk.
Imbibing the cold wester I lay,
With my fossilising will, to stand,
Gaped eyes set at the horizon,
Oathed never to shut but die.
Alpine sun flaming high above,
Melting ice, watering my hopes,
My reflections blooming in the buds,
I kiss my death, ineffably alive.
Categories:
oathed, courage, hope,
Form: Free verse