by Steve Tanham
Mystical poetry.
(140 words, a two minute read)
➰
In icy dream
We ate our picnic, you and I
And watched while moonbeams
Lit the curls of how and why
And seated watchers watched the sky
➰
No frozen crusts of bread:
This food of soul was liquid light
Drawn, once, upon the glittering night
Enmeshed, entwined, in meanings bright
Like crystals on the icy table
➰
Afar, you gazed
And with your pointing finger
Sought my leave – I feared
But when I looked, the end
Now so far beyond the means
Had disappeared
➰
Instead, where finger had
Above the crystal surface, been
Was drawn in quickly melting ice
A signature concealed
That, grasped with eyes and ‘I’,
Revealed the path to morning
➰
©Stephen Tanham, 2021.
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, A journey through the forest of personality to the sunrise of Being.
Lovely ❤️
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Thank you, Alethea x
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You’re welcome. Hugs for Bernie, Tess and Misty 🤗
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They send theirs ❤️
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Thank you 🤗
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