Manic hounds barking at the gate

Strange when the mind is still the silence between words seems louder than the

Pervading chatter,

The faintest of rustles sparks a great forest fire.

Colours glow brighter on the blank canvas, the beauty of existence glistens

In missing parts, in passing clouds;

The bits in-between, a lost song’s melody, untrammeled emotions

Climb the twice ruined folly, a slight pause, a return

With each brave gesture and fist in the air.

The rebel tumbles in cycles of doubt where darkness shines more luminous

Than light and emptiness is filled with something else all together.

There’s a breeding solace within such wounds of thirst

As the dripping moss feeds the rushing river, each lowest ebb unveils a

Silvered salmon.

This wholeness begs release yet thoughts trickle as wild rains, out in the fields.

In this deluge, great work is washed away and we drink from the purest of

Waters, our deepest stain shelters a

Mighty flame.

In perceived exile something eternal shudders, mouth noise becomes as

Relevant

As the manic hounds barking at the gate.

 

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5 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    indytony said,

    “As the manic hounds barking at the gate.”

    Good line.

  2. 3

    Serenity said,

    Beautiful~*

  3. 5

    I sure like your images here–especially in “There’s a breeding solace within such wounds of thirst / As the dripping moss feeds the rushing river, each lowest ebb unveils a / Silvered Salmon.” Wonderful sounds, too!


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