Cut me, I bleed

Just a little poem by yours truly....

I am not made of stone, or wrapped in sky-spun fantasies,
I am not the one who carries naught but phantasms of lost prayers.

I am the wind in the galleys
Where dancers breed perfected graces

I am the heart and the pulse
Of the ever changing cities of the new century

I am the beat the drummer makes
With bleeding sticks that reflect no more than his own fury

I am the tempest that cleans
The storm that rebuilds, I am the hope that refuses to die.

I am not the solution to your idiosyncrasies
I am not the messiah come to thread unbidden in your stagnation

I am a free horse in the pampas of Chile,
An unknown stranger offering help unexpected,

I am the lovely brush of a sensual hand,
Waiting to give a caress of love to skin divine, sublime

I am wilderness uncaged,
Whose heart belongs to no-one and all, open and innocent.

I am the prayer and the request
Of a little girl in a silent church, believing against all odds in what may come.

Cut me, I bleed.
Love me, I live.


The Beaver

My guest map is wonderful ! And you'd all be wonderful to post, all of you lurk mode readers!
Thanks and may the winds of Fate blow your way !