Thursday, 10 May 2012

mapping the inner landscape

from its rocky shores the lake of sadness
appears not nearly as vast
as it seemed in the dark
not nearly as deep
as the crevices, that, too, are not
as bottomless
as they seemed to the anxious eye
that was searching for the bleeding cuts
to find only green hillsides, fields and flowers in the meadow
the virgin forest of pure joy
beckons beyond the storm-beaten trees
in the open
birdsong inscribed into the footpath
by the horizon
the sea of creativity receives the numerous rivers
of feeling and thought
pain and pleasure rising with the tide
the scattered dwellings are temporary but the fire is warm
this is fertile land

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