He finds me when I am not looking,
the soft footstep at the threshold of my senses
an embrace of apple blossoms humming with bees,
murmuring all languages that have ever been spoken
Oh quickened tongue made of light and earth,
voice of star and root, wave and leaf
He comes to me when I am not seeing,
the honey glow of light from behind the door
Here is the expectant coil of green beneath the snow,
beneath the burn, beneath the stone
Here is warm and sun on skin again after night,
after grief, after sorrow.
By an Anonymous poet as featured by Maggi Dawn by way of The Wicker Chronicles in 2006.
Photographs courtesy of Google Images.
2 comments:
It reminds me of a poem by Maya Angelou. I don't know if it is exactly kosher to post a poem as a reply to poem, but here it is:
Arrival, by Maya Angelou
Angels gather.
The rush of mad air
cyclones through.
Wing tips brush the
Hair, a million
strands
stand; waving black anemones.
Hosannahs crush the
Shell’s ear tender, and
tremble
down clattering
to the floor.
Harps sound,
undulate their
sensuous meanings.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
You
beyond the door.
I'm glad you liked it. :)
-Graeme
http://www.angelfire.com/blog/wicker_chronicles/esoterica/
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