A Chance Meeting

A Chance Meeting

The feel of the world that surrounds me is ever oppressive in its summer heat… the slow drowning of sticky, humid air. I can still feel what’s left of the pleasantness in the slow, soft breeze–balmy, lingering within the leaves as they’re rustled by its whisper.

I think of poetry, of prose, of a narrative told in an ancient tongue. I don’t quite know the story, but the visceral feel of emotions and the scant pictures painted within my mind are ever present, needing in some way to release themselves.

There are stories I have, stories to tell. I watch and observe all I see around me and I am not without modes of inspiration. I come upon magic in all there is in the world, some vehement and sour, while other experiences promise hope, joy, and love.

A chance meeting is something a writer can always hope for; with a pleasant stranger discussing the weather, with an animal along a wooded trail, and with the Spirits in the land. Inspiration is divine, and divinity is all around us. Learn to see from within, and watch the secret places of the earth.

Keep a look out for these chance meetings because even the smallest bit of knowledge can be gained, giving the proper inspiration for a story to unfold.

The Woods

The Woods

A flame still burns,
upon the hidden altar of transformation
Mortal eyes cannot see
what spirit sees or she places before me
I can perceive figures in the muted light
Shadows on guard
protecting relics of a world we have yet to know
But our knowing grows
And I cannot blanket the terrors of
A dimming wood
A forest of souls and stones and bones
Calling me to tread on down this well hidden trail
An arch of solid granite shrouded in vines and roots of ancient trees
Shows my spirit the way
And my feet lead me
Down the steps
Of disdain and quickened pain
Through shadows of my Self
Evolving to this moment
Trivial longings fade into the distance
And this one true desire beckons my heart to soar
On ravens wings to strike out the clout
Of disillusion
And I kneel in the fog
This astral mist of blooded memories
And I believe
We hold the key
To the womb of the earth
Where pain and peace do not turn so easily
From one to the other
The hater to the lover
My mother whispers my destiny
And I can see
The way before me
And I’ve come home

 

*LJ