Spirit Mother

10 12 2012

The glass becomes an azure blue, with violet tinted, purple hue.
The light from sol upon its lake, through trees with eyes that dance the wake,
of darkling night and longing day, a breeze her mantle gently sways.
Blessed be that violet hue, bowing softly, singing true.

Angels dance above her crown, the swaying breeze, the subtle sound,
of ever present love and grace… no mortal glance will see a trace,
of its existent, primal howl, ethereal mortar, ancient trowel.
Such sentient grace, floating free – the way all life was meant to be.

A mortal vision seeks to bear, the blinding presence standing there,
beyond the veil that is placed, where hope abandoned feels the trace,
of love lost calm upon a see, intended ever to be free.
A karmic presence that becomes, the fruit that ripens, being love.

It falls like manna from the sky, accepting grace, not wondering why.
Her love is felt in streams that pulse, with fervent waves above all else.
Waves of winged and violet mass, enfolds the green enchanted grass,
within the love that breathes and sings, and flies upon the angels wings.

Alive amongst the waking air, falling softly, ever there…
The brilliant gems of love that are, if given wings, if carried far.
Falling from her mortal lair, bridging light for mortals fair,
for sentient eyes have seen her grace, felt her touch, carry her trace.

Imprisoned by the master race, who rarely now can feel a trace,
of what the earth does freely give, the will to breathe, the will to live.
The spirit doomed to lie above, the things we clench in fisted glove.
She lies awake – it’s we who sleep, inside her vessel, spinning deep…




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