I'm not aware of many things.
How do I prepare myself to wound
what I have healed?
I must ask the soul simply
how to recognize itself
in the dark
like the owl who leaves
its home and flies
focused and low.
Our path is not defined;
prisoner or freed our road
is dream, our wakening
shifting, changing.
Everything else, the beautiful
fading images, the coherent
fabulous things are less
real than memory.
6 comments:
Powerful.
You're simply wonderful Rachel.
I was sad to see the wolf-girl was gone. I enjoyed meeting her through your poem and I hope she will be back here one day.
Thank you both for you comments!
Thank you for bringing the wolf-girl back!
This is beautiful & mysterious
I am amazed all over again with every new poem, at the way you go straight to my heart and soul like a laser.
Is it the honesty, the simplicity, the beauty, the craft, the message...? All of them: it's the POETRY!
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