Pull Over,
And walk twenty yards
From the highway.
Myth is alive,
Movement rustling in darkness,
Light seeping from clouds,
A slight breeze,
A dancing Lehua blossom
Swaying unseen,
An unbeaten path,
A stone throw
from the known.
We are divorced from what’s real,
Believing in our own superiority,
And have we forgotten our relations?
The stone, the moss, the mist, the mountain,
All waiting for us to return home.
Apr 20, 2014 @ 09:52:59
Lovely! A poem that goes straight to the heart of things.
Apr 20, 2014 @ 10:17:38
🙂 thank you, Jane Dougherty!