Wow... When does it end?
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A Pillow of Wind
Breathing in the essence of the moment, caught somewhere flickering in the depths of memory;
Wells of worldly explanation, brimmed in a profoundly auburn sea,
Held, as though by will, in unfurled palm a dew-drenched glade;
Cool breeze blowing an emerald tide, reflections catching life in each and every blade,
Lying down in the pensive shade, of eyes closed in veneration;
For it’s somewhere behind that vantage on life, wherein lies the focus of my adulation,
Rivers pulsing in formless rhyme, liquid darkness spouted devoid of context and dimension;
Wisps of moments captured, in the cup of my hand, piercing the thin film of surface tension,
Restful breaths of the uncertain dark and light, convinced only of the air,
Rustling leaves in whispers, promises to follow the waning horizon’s silhouette just anywhere,
Transcending any form that trickles down, from tapestry imbued,
A pillow of wind, and a dream of you completing whatever it was that I’ll allude.
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