When I was three
I felt my soul
was older than the world I found,
looking up those rising steps,
with legs too short
to climb to heaven.
Spirit, free, is sense to feather,
filling wing inside of quill
with wave to wind
in air to lift,
something gathered from before
in service to a greater motion,
where word goes looking for divine.
Plan to pulse is reformation,
and I was born to write in crypt
what it is than calls in circle,
evolution's echo chamber
reverberating river's flow,
as channeled grace
to guide me further.
So here I walk,
sipping skies to glide
and flower billowed sighs
of love in cotton,
looking for an angel's image
to hold as sacred lover's touch,
the one who knows
my past life's name,
as mountain lying down in reverence.
A contest entry
- Destiny~ by poet2angels.
650 points, ended July 12, 2007, 11 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Congrats, Mr. Mountain, this is beautiful
-
Destiny is the strange path in our lives. Good luck with your destiny
~Sonja~
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this is lovely....Such a wandering spirit flows through this page....so beautiful, so wondrous are the thoughts in every line...I just love this ...One of your best!
Lynda
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beautiful
-
Pure beauty in words.
I can't do anything but
smile, and wish you well
in the contest. Lane
-
"looking for an angel's image
to hold as sacred lover's touch,
the one who knows
my past life's name,
as mountain lying down in reverence."
I love this poem, dear Scribe. I also love how your mind deciphers & determines the images flying through your consciousness with feathered fingers. Angels look for you, too, my Friend. Good luck in Lynda's contest, Sweetie. 
Wanda
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