In that we wait for end,
Mid fading winds of sand.
In dark refuge of night,
Silent word prays…despite.
Tag: Sufi
The fourth day
I whisper as one, another,
Who was left with little cover.
I saw the blooms of shiver cast,
Infant petals, not one the last.
Just before the wind had left
This wood had days not so bereft.
With all the thickets swaying bare…
This little bloom sways so fair.
Day, the Third
Between the borders of my self,
The lips of the departed mourn,
For there my spirit descends,
Taking the eyes of death.
The Second Day
The sky is my wound,
And you… my womb.
If ever was a lovers nest,
Let us in the sky take rest.
First Day
The charm of a sun,
Those golden rays.
A wild grass undone,
Golden, reaches…sways.
Pieces
Not only heaven fell to shore
When stumbled I on milky ore,
Long since the ocean, waves unfurled,
On shore laid thin her shawl to world,
And mountain, move’d far inland,
Swayed his self to shore as sand.
I stayed here, our world’s torn seam,
One man of men, looking within.
Photo Credit Harold Davis
ahorsealone 