Her Future Glory

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It was a small flame, on a single tree leaning,

as if she’d been hiding,

high in the mountains

on a cool crisp morning,

revealing only a part

of her future glory.

I smiled remembering

her fire of yellow, gold, and red,

so I breathed in,

accepted the embrace

of the brillant fire

of autumn.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, 2019, ancient skies

Note: From my archives.

The Transformation

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And the leaves changing colors, has always been a transformation

for us to seek the light, to be inspired, rising far above

the hate of our world, to give us wings, for us

to fly, and give the gifts of art and writing

to each other.

       

May it always be so. Amen.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies

Held Quietly by the Mountains

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The smell of cold air and leaves painted, is stronger up high

held quietly by the mountains, as if the master’s work

of autumn begins first, closer to heaven.

As the paintbrush moves further down

to the leaves in the valley, the blessing

of color spreads, one leaf at a time.

And we begin to put our hats on,

and to taste our pumpkin pies.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies

Beyond the Grey

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It is said that only ghosts live in the grey

and some of our shadows, that light is diffused

while we get confused, with the absence of color.

But it’s only in the grey that we can work

our muscles, learning to press forward

not fully accepting that we are oppressed.

It is the grey that teaches us to fight

to insist our world have some color.

And in the end our dreams

become real, and live.

 

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”

The Sky People II

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It was the grey that hated all the colors, and was jealous

of the love they shared. The eagles had built a strong home

a large nest in the tallest tree, but the grey felt left out

and gathered clouds for an attack. For days the storm was building

wind and rain about to burst, until finally one night the grey

surged with hate, and filled itself with black, shouting

and commanding the storm, to unleash the venom.

The eagles were strong and stretched out their wings to protect the eggs,

no matter how much wind, no matter how much rain, they withstood

the attack. But the branches of the tree were not that strong

they began to crack and break, the eagle with purple surging screamed

as the huge nest tumbled to the ground, and all of the eggs began rolling,

tumbling, falling, bouncing down the mountain, until they reached

the bottom of a ravine breaking.

But the Creator had decided on a miracle that night,

and instead of wings unfolding, or talons protruding through

there were arms with fingers, and feet with toes,

although these first people did have a lot of feathers,

they were indeed the first people.

     

The wonderful conclusion tomorrow!

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

“When we love people, we give them hope.”