The Earth Would Bring Healing

She squinted through the snowfall, her determination burning once again, in spite of the howling wind.

She had followed the wings of the hawk, and now….was that a cave? They had been led here for sure….”C’mon my love!” she yelled to him, who struggled with each step.

He had saved her so many times, now it was her turn. They knew this was not the time for dying.

Once they collapsed inside the cave, they found it warm and safe. They had survived the ruination, the last of all wars, led by the spirit hawk, surely it was a sign.

The Earth would bring healing. There would be a spring, and hope…..was about to be born.

From the Apocalyptic Journal.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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Walk On Spirit, Walk On

Walk on spirit, walk on, past the shadows lingering

from our political ashes

beyond the rhetorical chains

walk on, and run into the safety

of earth and sky, where oceans release

our humanity, and poetry sings

a sweet melody,

into the center of our hearts,

where love is remembered

pulled out, rescued

from the lifeless

museum.

Walk on spirit, walk on.

   

Poetry and All Images © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

Our Kingdoms Will Rise Again

The darkest parts of the forest offer a refuge to the wounded

but only long enough to recover, until we are ready for the light.

And our kingdoms will rise again, banners waving,

carrying mercy to those still in the fight.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

Laughing at the Hawk

A hawk shifts slightly on one of the highest branches, as he listens

to a mouse below burrowing, through last year’s leaves.

A chipmunk jumps here and there, bolder today

due to the density of the fog,

laughing at the hawk, because

all of the creatures know

there will be no hunting

in the forest, today.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

Journey

I was attracted to her red, and lived in her brown, but we didn’t stay there

our spirits quickly took over, with the honoring of each other, we soared

into the blue, embracing the white clouds and beyond. We traded

the golden rings and were bonded. Children, and our lives

were always blessed by the sun. I enjoyed cutting the grass,

living in the green, planting seeds.

      

Grey began creeping in, and there was a decided attack of black,

the darkest of black. She managed to hold her head above

it, surviving in the grey, thinking I was her rock,

but I was only a shaking leaf, it wasn’t me

it was nothing but mercy that pulled

her out. We lived for a long time

fighting in the grey, sometimes

seeing patches of blue,

and feeling the warmth

of the sun.

      

And now I enjoy the green again,

cutting the grass, seeing her

spirit soar, even though

some may mock

our trauma.

      

It doesn’t matter anymore, as we stare

into each other’s eyes, remembering

the golden rings, we traded

so long ago.

      

The journey – of loving each other.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

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

Serenade

When you were in the hospital and on death’s doorstep,

there was music playing, as I held your hand

it was not the music of the next life

but the music of this life, of peace

and of not giving in.

      

I loved how you encouraged the doctors

spoke to the young man, cleaning

your room. Investing hours, treating people

with dignity, you brought light

to everyone that you met

more than a warrior

you were a queen

of hope.

And you sang

softly to me

without even

realizing it.

I was never so proud of you,

and your serenade is forever

etched in my mind.

       

Note: This is looking back. She is doing very well now.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

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

After the Storm

In the midst of the storm we receive a new calling

in spite of the ice, in spite of our hatred for the pain

surviving the winds of a hurricane, can teach us

that it’s not about the storm, but it’s about the living

with the occasional bleed, and that all of us are survivors

living through the storm, even when we do not feel

any stronger. We learn to live through

another night, realizing there is green

under the ice, and then we grow

in our compassion, in spite

of the wind of a hurricane.

We are all survivors.

       

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies

Peace and blessings to everyone.

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