We move through like invisible ghosts
Haunted by the thoughts that speak without voice
Meandering wind like whisperings
In the thick syrup night of darkness
Heavy air pressing down
Consuming our souls left unattended.
We wander through searching
Watching those that move past hurriedly
As if there is fear to look too deeply,
To stare into the mirror of selves they may see
Too afraid to know that truth they’ve built
Like castles on sand that will wash away
If they only could see.
The coolness moves in slowly yet welcomed
And time itself stands still though speeds by
A minute passes, a spectre of then
And we strive to be here and now in this minute
And not a second more or less
As we sway in the breeze that stirs the leaves
Turning in circles our minds move without us at times
And the season of the witch comes
With clouds that hide the moon above
Flickering candles draw us to gaze
Into the heart that beats steady,
And deep in the lives we lead drifting through the now
Into a midnight dance of seasons.
Photo found on the Internet
Very nicely done Ken 🙂 ❤ love it ❤
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Looking ahead
Looking back
Looking through that veil that
separates both from us in way that
obscures the immediacy they possess,
their relevance to the current moment
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Thank you so very much, glad you enjoyed it😊
Peace and blessings, Kim
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Gotta love the season of the witch….and any Donovan for that matter, syrup nights, thick and slow moving😊 living in the jungle, summer mostly year round. Talk soon sweetie, K
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The thick syrup nite of darkness
What a line
Must be the season of the witch
Donavan
As always Sheldon
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Such a lovely poem ❤️ great post!
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