His Breath of Life

Like morning dew is
his breath of life floating,
a veil of mist,
content and waiting
For light to lift it.
Like a calls out so passively,
diamond among rocks,
its' beauty
permeating the landscape,
But wary of it's boundry.
Exuding irony, it is both
demure and feature-ful,
guarding, but not pessimistic.

The intercourse of man
to his veil
would be an unstructured affair,
Culminating in ecstasy.
Hardly daring to breath,
only gasps will emit
At the overpowering awe.
And, the breath,
gentle and strong,
blows evermore
the embers of hope.


Clawing out of the pit of life,
unbridled desperateness pervades,
Despite the presence.
Such as eyes transfixed
to a beam of light,
do we endure,
chanting,
to convince ourselves,
it must be reality.

The ensuing air of flowered love
meets our soul
with a rush of goodwill.
Peace becomes our bones.
The earth is not round -
nor is it flat.
One can see,
beyond the mountains,
enduring to infinity
lay the earth -
a virgin
waiting to be explored.
Time has become a single event,
never referring to a schedule.
The wind, too,
is free
not to be confined
to one direction alone.

The raven of pain
flies patiently,
opportunity but guarenteed;
so many houses in which to feed,
and so many houses in which to rest;
no one invites the raven.
A faldstool
becries a suffering;
its' voice,
desperate to be revered,
announces,
"Those must approach and exalt."
It seethes in fear,
hidden in ego.
"The veil is coming,"
it screams.

Come it does -
a revelation of light,
softening all else
in its' wake,
while velvet embers of transparency
guide its progress.
Crisp morning dew
chooses
life.