Beneath the blanket of warm gray sky
moisture falls
The parched land forced to rest
it can only produce so much
for so long
Shoots and fruits have withered
the herds passed
all that remains are ghosts of life passed
it can only produce so much
for so long
it pines for lush green, flourishing life
pulling at all its resources
pushing, striving, and trying to be fertile
it's left barren
dusty and cracked
Beneath the blanket of warm gray sky
moisture falls
and light enters through each drop
the land bathes itself in eternity present
resting in the sky
resting in what holds its being together
Beneath the blanket of warm gray sky
rest weary wanderlust
rest passing pilgrim
rest earnest seeker
looking for life in odd doors
vintage windows
eclectic mixes
worn streets
and torn sheets
rest till the breath you breathe
penetrates the pulsing soul
evaporating the imposed veils of separation
rest until the air you swim in is
thick with the being of love
rest until you is we
Beneath the blanket of warm gray sky
rest.
3 comments:
mmm. this is beautiful, adam.
thank you.
Thank you.
Isn't it hard to rest when you are confronted with becomming obsolete and forgotten?
And yet, those old, time-worn, shriveled testimonies of time still somehow have so much charm and appeal.
Like you've landed on the discovery of the century- Time is passing, Rest in Eternity now.
I love this. =)
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