Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

a sort of coming


36 nominations

The gardens alive, I see minute bugs fly Through the air like kamikazes, they signal Invisible shapes, the greenest foliage, everything Is a deep green, and the sun couches us in A blanket of a warm, yellowy glow-like nothing I could ever know I watch the birds, a Melba Finch's crescendo, A Chree-coo-coo staccato from skies above, As they plunder flying insects, weavers spray The sky with colours, I just stood there, Completely undisturbed with any worries or fears, The universe suddenly coming together at That moment, all energies flowing upon, and into Each other, like a massive circuit, any sign of chaos Funnelling into a timid harmony, where every scream, Or crack of bone, every shattered heart comes to peace, If it chooses to, like I'd discovered the keys to The universe that warm summer day.



© owl
2004-08-22

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