Memories of storms
Draw me in with your scent
lingering on my fingertips,
Slipping from one to the next
and drifting back to the first.
In dying light and candle fire
tired wind dropped to stillness
Feeling leaves crunch underfoot
and the last life of colour fades.
Passing the final junction
a new fragrance slides by
turning to the less traveled
and the pull of the unknown.
The failing sun bleeds to stars
the clouds gather in tight,
mighty the fallen rise
awaiting the dawn's break.
GREAT POST!!!
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Compliments of the PHC founder @jaynie...
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Thanks @jaynie :)
There are days when even the sky breaks. As if it could no longer support the weight, it goes and spills and the storm comes with its noises, smells and consequences. Natural and metaphorical storms come to shake our foundations, our body, but also to cleanse, purify the earth and bring other hopes. Beyond what lasts, the storms will never be eternal, even if they last in the memories. Good Friday, @tarazkp