Photo by drmakete lab on Unsplash
Sorting the Pieces
sifting through the rubble
From the time you flung me to the trash, smashing my head into protruding bolt, ripping flesh unscathed once before, life’s misery pouring out into the river of mysteries. No remorse from the others left to the hounds frothing at the lips, waiting to sink another bite into sinews and undisturbed thoughts present and far.
Smallest of small, yet painfully growing if left untended, we seek council from not of this place, going into the great unknown, seeking answers to minuscule of life uncertainties. Growing with every season, grandeur e, brush-like wildfire disregarded, flesh opening bloodletting of past and present alike.
Thousand piece puzzle presents again, scattered across the floor, not sure whether to piece together or abstract answering to calling of the wild. We sit time-telling-tales of sweetest symphonies intermittently, yet shadow song returning louder and louder, unchecked, doorstop left up, free-flowing, swinging doorway into sacred portals of pure potentiality.
Fast forward, ripening vines yielding fruit, for not given a breath of fresh air, inflamed bronchus triggering memory, time for healing is what voices ring clear. Ripped open, raw, exposing floating ribs, sliced with such precision, undetected further inquiry may be necessary.
More of the letting, blood transfusions, trans mutated species, with every breath transformed. Call to the winds, encircling hawks, dragon breathing fire, atop the mountain way, joining in flight for all to bear witness.
Call upon thy transgressors, fleeing thoughts uncertain and timely death, whispering songs of the ancients, dragon’s breath deep from earth’s quintessence. Circling above, higher, and higher, Peace Eagle showing the way, tending to wounds of old and present deer, becoming greater than all universes combined, breathing new life into every crevice of decaying thews is ripping at the seams.
Breathing in stories of old, passing through gratitude foretold, acknowledging the sacredness of foreskin, peeling back layers blanketed forests unfinished storylines, dipping life into the sacred waters of ancestral beings and galactic federations akin. Hopefully, the dust settling into the basement, sweeping, purifying quality of lungs original breath transformed.
Yes, it is time, Dagara tribal spirit passing through, first breath, last call at pub’s hallowed dwelling place, accepting, heeding the call, curing the sick, tired of squirrel cage left open. Sorting the pieces, sifting through the rubble, healing self, and collectively forever dragon taking flight, tickled amygdala.
~ Ani Po
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Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.
Photo by Javardh on Unsplash
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