Dreams did not visit me last,
I fitful tossed for rhyme for reason,
liquidity of spirit lost in foretold fortunes,
and Gypsy’s charms boots or pistols,
fish slipping hooks returning to the rivers,
the barbs of rivalry the cost he well considered,
frost bitten gardens bare of flower’s names,
angel manes tear stained remains re-framed,
sill glass broken bleeding gain for Charlemagne,
yet, never shall be blamed for toil begs to sane,
the fisher of mermaids with sorrow’s net,
when love rains blue bleeding veins of regret,
these are the vestiges of wars desiring to be reborn,
I’d rather feed the birds my names than join ranks,
Love and crackling dream rock corn seed cakes,
than plant a mourner’s field of fickle weed,
for the Maiden Spring to tangle march,
with the binding of heart’s ankle crops,
The Queen of Swords, The Empress stand,
One of weilding metal, One of humming land,
Sweet path I walk of Mother’s harvest clan,
gather do I Winter’s storage grains,
with the stone sickle of Perfect Love in one hand,
the goblet silver Peace drink I of the other,
bow and curtsy eye to eye,
with the Lord and Lady, by and by,
This Self is ever ebbing as the windy rye,
The self of man will haunt then die,
Seems, I must razor walk the skies.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

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