Mustangs

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Our poems will wait to speak to us, as we hide ourselves away

confident, in luxury condominiums setting up our safety.

But in our living through the storm,

up on the ridge, with our breath taking us

into the wildness of words, where mustangs

fill our minds, and pine trees

are tossed by the wind,

with blizzards that shake loose

our hesitation

blowing through

the fragments

of our hearts,

we become confident

of our survival,

in a place where

our pens run free

and the poetry paints

the wildness

of our spirits.

       

I will be posting here once in a while. Thank you for reading!

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

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The Quiet Still Held by Winter

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With our spirits gently drifting within and through

the snowfall,

our words will give shape

to our meditation,

even a poem worthy

of silent reflection,

in the quiet

still held by winter.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies