By Sharon St Joan

Photo by Melvin Wahlin on Pexels.com

Within the rose

Shining in the night,

A shimmering cloud 

Grows,

Within the night

A crowd

Of trees walking,

Walking through bright

Hills of mist,

Back to the beginning

Again,

Back to the sacred – not forgotten – forest

Of rains and stars and winged beings,

Of boats that sail long in the rushing rivers of the skies.

There floats

Within the lake-enchanted eyes

Of the tiger;

In an ember of perception,

The presence

Of Durga,

Who holds up the resilient dagger 

Of truth,

Imparting the courage

To be walking

Through fields of lilies,

On dimming days,

Through the magic of the gloam,

Guided by the long-known

Beings of light,

By the souls of the trees

Going home,

By the trees

That remember

Always.

In the night of the swan

Who knows 

All things

Within the fire,

The river of eternity,

The beings walk on

Within the voice, lone, not far away,

Of the great-horned owl

Who calls, 

In reply to the howl

Of the winds of the night, 

And who guides lost feet

In the frost

Of winter’s time,

In the sleet,

In the snows,

In the reflection,

Dancing on the ice,

Breaking in the spring,

In the sound of the chime

Of the ancient day,

Returning.

The higher 

Truth of the light

And the walking, not alone,

Where the souls of the trees

Breathe 

In the holy darkness

And in the brightness

Of the day that is yet to be,

Shining.

© Sharon St Joan, 2020

Written August 28, 2020