monastic silence is cradled by a chant of sacred simplicity
while the dove spreads its wings in communion with the clouds.
sailing the glassy surface with only the moon and stars to guide,
serenity is an elemental chorus of frogs and trees.
the shock of news unexpected coldly slaps me;
the hand print on my heart squeezes tighter.
my tummy would like to thank the academy of member treats
who made me what I am today; oooh, does that come in chocolate?
the stone statues stare stoically at me.
then blinking, they run off to an easier game.
the bravest innovations are traditions yet to form and
a scar reinjured reminds us of its presence.
the slash burn rips through the field of flowers,
bursting into a colorful rainbow of soapy bubbles.
6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
No comments:
Post a Comment