simonhlilly

A scattering of seeds,
Settings without forethought,
Each a word, a thought,
A gesture, a line.

Taking root
In the familiar dust –
The footprints of ancestors,
Hollow lines of habit,

Trains of thought
That may become
A weed of bitterness,
That may become
A tree of song.

All life, though-
All a dance
Of molecules,
Of spirit.

We are the dust that sings
An experiment in harmonies
A coagulation of light
A stratigraphy of memory.

We are the dust that sings.
Should that song cease-
Motes floating in sunlit silence.

If I have no audience
But the vortices of space

I will resonate
And be resonant.

Power resides
Where power flows.

Isotopes of emotion,
Geometrics of the heart:
song, chant and prayer.