Monday, November 21, 2016

The Village Where Mists Meet The River


In a place like this long ago,
Or perhaps a place just born…
Where the mist meets the river,
There is a tiny village
Surrounded in the tranquility of a sacred cloud

On an island of quietude
Minds rest in the kiss of her rain
As the essence of her veil
Huddles over the people

The leaves weaving themselves with the fog,
Twinkle in the dawn
Plucking the heartstrings of the soul
And settling it in the safety of her silver threads

A foot that treads lightly on the earth,
Feels it's moist and papery debris

A stray soul from time to time finds them self
Only for a moment, before the sun is to rise
At the entrance to it’s pass

The distant call of its inhabitants
Beckoning the most placid of minds
And the strongest of will

Shall they walk the pass
With strong heart,
They too can feel the kiss of her rain
Walk in the soil of life
And hear the sweet strum of dew in the forest

However, be weary the soul
That cannot walk without fear
Finding themselves entranced
By the mirror of their wildest delusions
And murkiest dread

They awaken with the moon,
Pass and mist afar off the shore
Unharmed, however…


Forever greatly changed.

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