In the victory of the Sea
the waves call to the sound
of the roaring crash...
high drifts meet on the shore.
Along lifes learned lessons
comes a barge
blocking the path
of least resistance....
forcing you
to walk down the road
most definitely less taken....
it seeks you..
it finds you...
you are there
with your rainboots on
splashing in the mud
and the murk
of your own creation.....
Forest Hills
beckon to the ancient one
waiting for you
to listen to the call
of the wild.....
The primal animal screams
pierce your soul...
its cry as ancient
as the myths of the Gods
that sang to you
long ago,
in another time and place....
you find yourself there again...
all creation surrounds you
in the deep universe
of knowing....
Written by Rhiannon (Barbara R.) November 4th, 2005.
3 comments:
Forest Hills
beckon to the ancient one
waiting for you
to listen to the call
of the wild.....
This was a great poem. Its funny how many people ignore the world around them these days and get upset when Mother Nature throws a monkey wrench into their plans.
Powerful poem, and not very old either (2005). It is interesting that you just installed that marvelous roaring lion in your sidebar and that you mention roar in this poem. I wonder if that is a theme that runs through your life.....
This seems inspired by past lives.
(I love the word "murk" -- very descriptive)
Yes, the ministers and preachers seem also to need a foil, an enemy, as do countries at war.
I recently read that 46% of ministers believe ,and preach, that Islam is evil, according to a poll. Whatever happened to universal love and forgiveness?
A pat on the back for your youthful stand in the church. My kind of hero!
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