Morning Poem, March 27, 2017


Go down by the ancient oaks

You will know the trees when you see them

They are towers themselves

And the air around them

Bears the weight of their years

And shines with their knowledge


It is here you must leave your horses

And walk down the falling cliffs beyond

To the white river

After the first step there is no fear

You will not fall, but glide, as if weightless

As if this is what you are meant to do

Where you are meant to be


In the moments you descend

All of your life will be opened to you

You will see every why and how

And be satisfied


When you reach the water and board the skiff

You will fear no evil

And feel the strength of your arm

That will bend a bow of burning gold

In the sunset you will see  chariots of fire.




copyright 2017

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