Spirit of the nuanced
The Guardian
Captures me
Subtle breath whisps escaping
Amid mornings fresh slumber,
Retreating darkness
Holding whiskers proud
Beyond horizon’s line;
An unfurling, curling
One here, one there
Among different sized lobes
Each a maze of geometry
So uniquely theirs
It’s a geneological foodbank
Each year in passing.
Calmness of inanimate objects
Sitting patiently waiting use
Though no forseen future demands
Their attention.
Sweet parent-birds
Fly hither and tither
Dusting tops of every perch
Fighting for their moment
To build their grass nest more home like.
It is within this deep being
That the Guardians arrive
No trumpeting, no blooming,
Just tingling sensations
Arising from an inner cleft
Of my seeking heart
Wedged between a desire to think
And a greed to be done thought;
An unknown state
Of neither solid nor liquid
A gelatin, oozing down my spine
And into my belly
Dancing to a tribal rhythm section
Continually beating
And beating
And uplifting my observations
Like a lost feather
Caught in a spiral.
Is this seek or search?
Are eyes wide open
Even during sleep time dreaming?
Does water still run
When my hand doth not provide
Ripples for its current to take?
For in this lost world
A game that hath not unfolded
Shall our minds be awake
To feel and hear each luminensce
A shining depth for soul language
Hidden within our own Glorian?
Shall we know so deeply
Without language or reason
To guide our knowing
Or maybe we call it
More appropriately
Guiding our understanding
Or better yet
Shall we call this quest
Simply a Glorian.