June 2 by The Running Son
7̉̉̉̉̉ year faminə
Seven years ago
I left glory.
I had a story to tell, I thought,
of seven hells, and how
seventy times seven times
did I swell beneath the hot sun.
of steely determination
kept me plodding along:
prodigal, and doing quite well, thank you!
I’m planning for a feast at the gates
with welcoming do-wells,
some snakes maybe, but a greeting of bells!
Fate will tell.
Seven places beneath the scarf:
The nose, ears and eyes
think twice. The mouth
looks once, and moves on
to better lands and greater hearths,
where hands warm, and the music
never offends. Pleiades sends
her seven greetings, and bends.
I say, hello to you, fine lady!
I hope seven children await me
where these planets have led.
So tell me
that no seed is ever left for dead.
But this new key pleases me.
Seven steps lower to the level
of hogs, then to my best swan-lyric octave,
Then seven down,
bass seven down,
the pathway displaced by a sudden grounding–
Seven years come to a head
and finally found me
with seven wives in seven beds,
and seven hellish episodes
of why me?
And, you dont see!
My seven heart-parts are all needed
To map true channels
and the impact and
of the journey
by Jim Aldrich
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.