From behind the curtain
her voice
holds tremolo and vibrato,
high and clear,
sweet and lilting,
with a hint of poignant sadness.
The drum pushes, pulses
her ululations from underneath,
building the bridge
that connects
the world to the origin
of its song,
evolved,
forgotten, debated,
documented, erased,
burned, rescued,
savaged and salvaged,
but ever
created.
The child and the drum.
Two become one,
and the heartbeat
keeps the time of memory,
even now.
Behind my eyes,
a dream of blue waters,
blue souls,
blue bubbles,
blue hearts,
and blue love
Ethereal,
mysterious,
the essence of floating spirits
and the color of transcendent skies.
It holds a
midnight sorrow
and an afternoon romp
in its hands.
It belongs to all,
but is special to us.
Unleashed, it holds me
enthralled.
She,
kissed of the sun,
birthed of the earth’s red clay,
stands a goddess in the green lush alcove
of branches that arch to protect her.
A sorceress that magic
willingly surrenders
its secrets to,
she only has to turn to me
to enchant me
with silent spells
of regal beauty.
She binds my mortal
heart to hand,
and bids me
love to worship her.
Surrender is all the sweeter then,
and for a time, I too, am kissed of the sun,
yet banished at moonrise
to dream once more
that a goddess
once loved
me.
*art by Charlie Bowater on pinterest.com
Beyond Panic 