Saturday, March 17, 2018
A murky, misty curtain swept aside.
The death of sleep reversed, dark chased away;
What aurous fire reclaims, it cannot hide.
Morning: I live in a borrowed future.
I sense a goal, intense and yet unclear:
To spring from shadows, a caricature,
A piece of the sun, fiery starlight near.
Light flickers, spills across a grassy sea --
Its path, intent, not even I can guess.
Its golden fire, its music calls to me,
Bright beneath the waters of consciousness.
The light is life, encompassing desire:
I can't fear it; I must become the fire.
Waking can be an incredible experience.
Posted by Mick at 3:05 PM