Wish I, a ghostly cave of conch, to be;
Ocean's tongue held 'twixt a salty conquest.
Or pant through woods in breathless cervine* flee
A tinkle's leap rainbowed at wind's behest
Might I dream a boat moored to drifts vacant
Desultory songs to fill a sail's clear throat
Or bloom mystical on a range ancient
A spirit's seek within a life's devote
Suffer I would the lonely flight of soar
An eagle's stoic, an airless crag's embrace
Shall I, or, weave a valley flute's contour
To trouble the passions of mountains chaste?
Silver shadows of whim I hold to flesh
To vanish into, or live life afresh
*cervine: adj. Relating to, resembling, or characteristic of deer.
dear E:
ReplyDeleteStopping by after ages. What a lovely rush of flashback. And how nice to see the words are still fresh, still seeking, still throbbing...
Hope you are well.
Dear L,
ReplyDeleteLong time indeed! So lovely to see you here. Apologies for responding so late. Been caught up in things & sundry. Yes, the old times were good! :-) Glad you enjoy the words here. Hope you are well too...