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December 19, 2007
Stories
He lies down upon a bed of sweet grass
Cushioning a deep sleep under the spell of a starry night
There, he dreams of a stranger’s lucid face in some far away land
In the cool dawn air, he lifts his head and smells the new day before him
His hands cling to the earth
As if not to fall off the surface
She lives near the edge of the world
Eyes wide open, searching for the memory
Of the ancient one’s dreams
Bending with the wind, her breath dissolves the fears
Of her impatient heart
She listens to the mysterious language of the swaying trees
Making her long journey in each step she takes
There comes a time when we will all know and remember
When to tell our own stories
Posted by kay at December 19, 2007 03:56 PM