✨morning poetry pages/stream of consciousness✨
I am made of stars and moonlight
Fragile things
I am made of the wood of old trees
Strong and mighty
Magnificent and holy
I am made of glass
Something that you use time and time again
Something that you hold onto like the memory of a midnight kiss
I am made of beastly things
Ghastly things
They carousel through my mind like dark shadows in streetlights
But still
You must remember again that I am also made of light
Ever bearing, bright, yellow kisses of sunshine
How these shadows of mine
They fall away
Cowering against the overbearing weight of self righteousness and vanity I exude
In this moment , when I am akin to sunlight, would you not say I have become close to a god in my own right?
When I touch the earth and she touches me back, do I not become like gods of old?
When I take my spirit through the hollow of trees, with nature against my feet, am I not ever so much closer to the mighty gods you dance and pray to, braiding flowers in your hair and offering delicate dainty things made with a touch of love?
Spirits of mighty ancestors rest inside of me
They howl
They scream
And I, in my passivity, choose to do the easiest thing
Walk away
Turn away
Ignore them if I must
But sooner or later
I speak
And I find, oddly, simply, plainly, that all the world, all the universe, all inside me and outside me, talks back
✨morning poetry pages/stream of consciousness✨
