We Do Eventually Become the River

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When we are in our seasons of prayer,

it’s not that we are sending our hopes, our dreams

down the stream, as paper boats toppling –

fragile vessels, through the rapids.

No.

We do eventually become the river,

sending hope

and the power of faith, surging,

merging,

with the greatest

of all oceans,

victorious.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

As the Wind Gently Moves the Tall Grass

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As the wind gently moves the tall grass

on the side of the mountain,

a few bees

contend for the wildflowers swaying,

and my heart is at rest, 

listening

as the shadow of hawk wings

silently

passes over – stirring, bringing

a sense of adventure.

And in the wind now, I can hear

Him speak.

   

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

 

Angel Talk

What would an angel say, visiting you in the middle of the night,

in the trenches of your devastation?

Would she put her arm around you, drying

your tears? Nah, she would probably say, “Get your boots on hon,

strap on your shield, and grab a hold of that sword

you know so well.”

“And stop staring at the javelins

in your chest.”

“Let’s get your fight on hon,

it’s time now,

for you and I to slay

some dragons.”

    

Poetry © Copyright 2017, ancient skies