most days when the heart is on a shelf
unable to find it's rhythm;
the spirit is in a pocket
with a hole draining out;
the soul is on hold
with no chance to grow deeper;
and the mind is jumbled and
confused without the possibility
of any clairty
spring returns and
the heart warms its
place on the shelf and I feel it;
the spirit patches the pocket
so I can take it out and marvel at it;
the soul finds its voice and
convinces me it is deeper than the day before,
even the year before; and
the mind settles;
clarity ends all confusion
Image is what happens when Dad gets too many medicine bottles and me the artist and ultimate "hate to throw it out" artist takes over.
I call him my
Medicine Man Angel.
No comments:
Post a Comment