Warrior

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And in his dream he was a boy again, praying,

in a church with stained glass, 

praying to be strong,

to become a warrior

to fight the bullies of this world,

and when he woke up,

searching the ceiling, he said,

“amen…”

as the sun was rising.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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Opening Up the Sky

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When I was a boy, my bow was only made of plastic, but I could fire those arrows way up, so far, so far

into the blue that you could not see them anymore, lost

in the clouds until they descended suddenly

deep into the Earth as if an offering

received. Nobody knew

but I was a Crow warrior back then

simply opening up

the sky.

More beginnings.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Darker Rain

When our trauma turns our view, slanting

the sky, releasing the grey within

cracked vessels, we often listen

to the darker rain, as if

there is a deliverance

in the mist.

And yet

having survived the false prophecy,

the breakage of our story

the empty dictators

of self speak,

we discover the desire

for a simple light

and for a sky

that speaks to us,

of a new story

not quite so broken.

     

Poetry © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

The Strength of a Poet

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The strength of a poet is never found in the revelation

of their words or in the hidden meanings,

or the perfect alignment

of their phrases.

Instead, their strength depends on which river,

which light

what source of the eternal,

they allow

to wash over them,

to refresh, to surge

through, their hearts

and their minds.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

Splintered Rays of Light

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Even in our fractured world, there are still memories of what flowers did,

and splintered rays of light, chasing shadows from our grey,

causing loose particles of love to float,

within our reach, as we jump

and grasp, we can hold onto them now

even if they are just fragments,

pieces really, keeping us

alive.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies