Beneath The Rowan Tree

Listen. Come to me in the silence of midnight when the world holds a collective breath with the anticipation of dawn.

Sit here at my feet in the warmth of my inner glow, and I shall sing to you the song of a wild soul.

Let the whisper of my gown mingle with the rustling of breeze and allow the wind of my words to run gental fingers through your hair.

Curl bare toes beneath the fold of legs and linger for a time in the weightless place.

Allow yourself to simply breathe, be silent, content in your stillness as you settle into the strength of my calf.

Let your conscience mind be a still pool of water, and my voice the reflection on it’s shadowy surface.

I will lay my palm on your tortured brow and the music of solace will soothe your ears.

Close your eyes and see branded there the images of my conception, like a slide show of beautiful mistakes and freakish feats of reality.

Sigh sweetly to the stars as Truth and Epiphany stroke your wounded places.

Lick your lips as desire sweet as honey melts all over your inner defenses.

There is poetry in the sadness, a lovely profile carressed by darkness and moonlight.

Come hither my child, for the cloak of night is heavy and fear craves the mind’s illumination.

By the back-beat of stars and a smoothe flow of black ink, the song of a river…



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