The Dark Comfort

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When I write of the dark now, the enfolding, the pouring in of midnight, I’m not referring to evil, the seeking to destroy, the choking of our humanity, with talons extended,

or even of the darkness of our anointed narcissist, screaming so sadly of his insanity, supported by the prayers of some of the faithful, often confused, and sometimes worse…

no, I write of that dark comfort, stillness enfolding into us, like twilight wrapping us, holding us,

a silence of the heart…where we sometimes go, where stars live….still clinging to the night, watching over us,

over the deepest parts of us….causing even our scars to bow down, hoping for release,

like when birds awaken, praying, fighting sleep, to greet the dawn. It’s OK to go quiet during the rebirth of wings,

instead of leaving our spirits shredded, left in ruins. We don’t have to accept ourselves wearing a reality of dark wings trembling.

We do know the way, don’t we?

      

Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies

A Love Story

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She never trusted in the dark side so she took my hand instead,

I wasn’t exactly a knight, but she saw something within me she could believe in,

and she wasn’t exactly all flowers, but her heart carried a priestess within, filled with light,

I recognized some of her scars, and I knew her beginning was a hail storm,

we both knew, and became synced when I tried to capture her flag….she took mine instead,

before I even knew what had happened,

and we never quite reached the height of eagles, we were more like hawks,

but at least we were not crows, all noise and no substance,

we live with grey feathers now, carrying courage, healing each other, and……very much in love.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Winds Changing

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In that day when warfare is the ruler, the sovereign thief

stealing, destroying what we do know,

our spirits will often lead us

into winds changing,

pulling us into the kingdom of blue skies,

into something new,

a sense of a spring forest

exploring, restoring and changing

who we are.

Not the wiser,

maybe not even stronger,

yet a new creation

in love with a sense of living…..

the journey

of a new adventure.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Note: It’s ok if our faith changes due to the ruins of our lives. It’s really ok, and a very real part…… of our survival. It is ok.

75 Arrows

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He shifted slightly in the saddle, letting go gently of the reigns, they both stood there and breathed in the view from the top of the ridge. In his peace, he realized it didn’t matter now.

Even if the government fell tonight, and democracy was swept away, he would still have one of the best trail horses ever made. He loved his Quarter Horse/Belgian mare. And he had his compound bow, but only 75 arrows until he learned how to make his own.

He dismounted and led the mare to the stream. Soon even people would be able to drink from the rivers again, having been cleansed. He was a little uneasy though, about carrying the bow wherever he went. What was it the pastor had said?

“Sometimes we hold onto our weapons, not willing to accept the new being made…..” Yep that was it……he was unwilling to accept the ruins and the new was having a difficult time breaking in. Maybe he just needed more time.

As the mare drank deeply, a noise to his right caught his attention. He swung around the bow, and his right hand instinctively reached back to the quiver……he wondered if the deer knew he was hunting…..

from the Apocalyptic Journal

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Fortress

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It was snowing that night the wall was completed, not many noticed, tired of the fight.

Yet some conservatives rejoiced in their victory, believing the Enemy was defeated and that they could rest in their holiness once again.

However, the angels in Texas, bowed their heads with tears in their eyes,

began praying for all those stuck inside the Fortress, for those believing that somehow,

in some way, they were righteous, and so having turned their backs

on the poor.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Survivors

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As I look out over the ocean I do see some dreams just beyond the horizon,

and yet within the storm the reality speaks

we are not always stronger,

all of us, each one of us

are somehow survivors, even

if we don’t know how we got here.

Perhaps the sun on the surface will at least place a smile on our face,

and the sand beneath our feet surging the power of the Earth into us

so that we are able to face the tides once again

with the pushing and pulling

against us,

we continue forward anyway.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies