Between my shadow and my soul

Puncturing Rhythms

Death punctuates Life S.t.o.p. Pause, Belong' Feel! Ponder? Accept... Once again I feel indebted to my culture for the Ritualised mutterings and the close-knit boundarylessness That makes this Real Followers, we are generations Generating and generated Interdepending genesis with nemesis

Spring Garden

Credit for pic

In the midst of a meadow of sand, she sowed some seeds

And woke early to prepare them for the sun’s rays

Humming soothing remedies for their aches and tender caresses

When they drank, water she collected from the middle of the lake

Such crystal, vibrant beauty a creation never created, and of course

The story begins with the meadow she sought, in a hardened land

Cracked and dry, her coarse fingers knead and crumbled, and of course

She could not know the meadow was surrounded by angst, the bi-annual quakes

She swiftly overcame and toiled and toiled and toils still, underestimating

Her own perseverance, and the Valley’s molten terrored core