Seismic Soul

To speak
Without being heard
With words like wind
Asleep in windchimes,
To be far away, breathing in a distant past dyed sepia and smelling of crushed leaves:
The aroma of time dried through the ages,
To taste a fruit away from the tongue
And let it linger in a seedless ecstasy
On each pair of lips
In every burnished breath between the lungs
To weave sunlight
In the skin of dewdrops
And bare a rainbow upon the floor
Brought home to a full circle
To smile at the madness of it all
And mean it in the mirror of mind
Grassroots enveloping
Memories I cannot find
Now leads me to believe
That life with all its thorns and petals
Is more in the act of living
Than waiting for it to settle

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you. View all posts by TheHumanAnvil

4 thoughts on “Seismic Soul”