The Staff and the Silver Cloak

One step,
Right foot in.
The large white room
Commands the din.

Motion
Turns to
Gestures.

Speech
Diminishes to
Silence.

The Centre
Gives way to
The Flame
And in succession
The Corners too
Align.

Feathers take flight
Settling upon
A Silver Cloak
Whole one moment
A heap the next.

From the Flame
Rises
A Staff
Jeweled
With emeralds
And studded
With sage.

A second step in
The wind wisps
Through his hair
Then all is still.

The Cloak
And the Staff
Levitate,
Encircle
The young one.

With the third step,
He turns around
Wielding the Staff
Draped in the Cloak
His eyes reflecting
Resolve
His being emanating
Warmth and newness.

The last step
Grounds his Will
A breathe of relief
Overcomes him
As the Walls'
Sage pores
Reminds him
Of Home.

by the strength of His hand

the barren wasteland
Remained untouched
the mystery retained
as the silence resonated
the one
lead through this dry land
only by the strength of His hand

Once Lost

The depths of the ocean

Churned,

Each grain of sand

Overturned,

Each soul in each living being

Raced in anticipation.

Will the murky waters aside steer?

Would they gleam clear?

Will the sunlight penetrate the ocean floor?

Would their voices float through once more?

And bring home joy anew?

The questions unending,

The chords a-bending,

Yet a shimmer of hope

Found in a lost conch

Preserving that which was once lost.

The Teardrop of the Amethyst Hare

Stealthily through the night

He moved,

This creature out of sight.

Slithering across the threshold

Of an unchartered ruin.

A whiff of cool air,

Tempered with the kiss

Of Lady Lune

His bodily warmth 

Was compelled by 

The nearing charm

Of a swamp.

Gazing up

Beyond the peaks and valleys,

He viewed a resemblance uncanny.

For the symbol of Yin and Yang

Was replaced

By that of the stars and dunes.

With a raised brow

And a curious look,

He jotted down the scene

In his porous book.

The varying dimensions 

Of the memory

Could possibly decipher

All that it could mean.

A witness and part 

He must bear

To stop this dance

To the Other's tune.

Alas! to claim victory

He must tear

The Teardrop of the Amethyst Hare

Away from the Other's lair.

The bloodlust overwhelms him

Nomore.

It is freedom

That he craves,

From this jungle

Dark and deep.

To be among his own

Who often

Gently weep.

Crumbling Walls

Centred around your blaze

There's nothing that will amaze.

Crumbling walls stay the same

Winding through this haze.

Runaway if you must,

But stand your ground

And your wounds will bring you around.

Tears glisten

As the violins make you listen.

That starlight from yonder shore

Will break the hold of these evil spores.

Tremble no more,

Children of the weary folk.

These eyes of precious stone

Never will leave you alone.

Cave! Cave! As the Earth once told,

Worthy, you are not of this ode.

For the spirit once sold,

Will forego bliss untold.