In the shadows of forest, of flickering light through the canopy above, so many stories are born and run their course,
run through my veins where swordkeepers dwell, speaking of wisdom and peace, with kings and queens worthy,
and still others tell of the Spirit Bow speaking, or the Sacred Javelin lost, and then found. How light is bent
or of buckskin and the tribes restored within their spirits coming back and bison running free, as the river……
A writer alone
in the forest…..
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies