April 3 by The Running Son
i may fade,
but we build.
fiber upon fiber,
wave over wave,
muscles flexing, texturing,
training for the stretch.
then on to the next thing
the pain of emotion,
the earth in rotation,
low pangs of birth
and tears in decent, salt
and shedding skin.
or catharsis and molting out.
phoenixes rise, tho wax melts
and wings fade and the great sun
devours, the two eyed chasm
devours: that fear and hate.
also, the great sea
devours deep in choral
reefs where the pristine center
of all things unites it’s sundry
facets. err, being wrapped many
times thru the ages over many lives,
over folding tides and human sighs,
becomes the crystallized foundation,
and is reported to be clean, having
the time of its life, and alive.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.