The Star that would turn Stone
tender call of sorrow's mischief
A latent thought erupts like an angry volcano
Immediately the unity of my mind
Speaks a language equal to the shattered notions of a life cut open
The lifeline remains
Will the sands explode into a righteous relative of a storm that will not be silent
At least not today
The stones that play an enigmatic melody of the heart
Rise up screaming the calls for liberation
Won't you sing with me, friend?
Casting off the dead cells as my skin takes to a shedding off of a dream that the sun swings like a bouncing ball refusing to extinguish angst
Can you allow my sensations that dance like a frog across the lily pad?
Counting backwards, The Infinite Light pierces ignorance
One star fakes it's death and throws itself in the arms of angels
falling, falling deeper, into the gravity pull of the center of the hot molten earth
One by one sages appear descending the star through scenes of one ancient tradition after another
Then appears a man with a bouquet of red, red roses, masking his face
But, the star can see his elaborate Armour across his chest
One by one, the stones inside were lit, glowing
The quartz of the birth of the star is wide open
As a letter of each language reveals the secrets of the edge of cliffs
dissension
And Heaven and Earth, KISS again
A love affair of the magical realist
Heavenly constellations absorbing the passions of humanity for which they were created to entice
There is no separation, no loneliness, just the tremors of a planet in danger and a star that no longer stands for a mere oscillating excitement, like a woman making prayers in a brief moment of AWE.
Ten thousand dreams finally set free to stand in front of a transcendent mirror
As a lighthouse is created, popping up like a mountain, for those trapped in a hellascious heartbroken domain
And a little trail is lit by a fallen star that gave up the skies to join in the heart of man's wisdom in the cycle of life and death had no door left unopened like before for those struck with the madness of a paralyzed existence
So many of the fallen could our star see, watching ashes to ashes falling down
Just to save the universe's special offspring
The trees of the human race
The deserted minds who gave the earth a reason to see how the BODY is a representation of ancient myth
tell me tenacity, now that the unity inside the makings of man and women
grasp the snakes of lies and torturous prisons
and fling them straight into the fire
burning, burning, burning
take my transgressions
escape to the place where everything is UP/side Down
Withdraw to The Cave
burn the incense
The star died
But then when no one expected it
She became a Butterfly Woman, dancing inside that Quartz Rock
where one person after another passed that magical rock
And as they spoke, she lit a spark in their darkened hearts
Leaving a piece of herself as her rock caught on fire inside man
No one ever the same again
Replies
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/content/dam/news/2015/10/30/wis3...
The heavenly serpent
Along the seaside as the waves go to and from
A smile from a little boy gives way to reaching for a seashell that would let the sea smile back
Seashells are the decendants of a tiny animal shedding it's skin as a hand to the other shore
If only we would swim as the moon shown bringing the sliver of the Crescent
The evening seat of Kwan Yin
Tell telling how the snake, a symbol of fear, even in his strength, also sheds his own skin
Giving birth to humility and letting go of power, in the wake of wisdom, without the teeth of a thief
Running down the tree of a cry in the lack of gratitude
The pen is waiting, ready to draw a lighthouse in the tree's reincarnation, being a blank piece of paper
Holding itself to be liberated in the soft poetry ultilizing a heart that would live forever in our dreams
One where original sin was exposed and the snake seen as a hero, keeping the land free of rodents that carry disease
Oh how sweet it is, that even the snake knows the difference between a pet and a threat
David Brazier said:
The languid body slowly wakes.
The dream snake
slips back into his lair
beneath the stair
up, up to heaven, there
to shed another skin and stare
into the cloud-reflecting lake
until the gathering storm take
all, and Sol revive the fantasy
we call the story that we be.
Then shedden skins of dream stuff
tumble down like fluff
blown from the flower clock,
borne on the breeze to knock
upon the shrinking stock
of hope, there to unblock
a channel for the mercury
to rise, the sap to fill the tree,
and life, sweet life, to be
revived where there is still soft poetry.