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The eyes of God cast no shadows


And I have decompressed time into the face
of my Beloved.

I compress the sighs of my life
into breath, one after the other,
for the fruit falls not far from the tree
and its branches sing praise to the sky.

Smoke inside a bubble is still smoke, our shadows
rise above.


Bukowski said there is a bluebird in every poet's heart,
to claim
the remains of its day in the sun,
there is
laughter in the redolent seaweed, for the shade
is not
a shadow
unless something stands in its way.

Destiny knocks with alchemy in its hands then
throws the key of revelation, there are
foot soldiers marching on every path and a loaded gun
in every reckoning,
leaves can not cling beyond the fall of their endurance,
pirouetting their descent into strange eyes.

Leaves curl into gold then rust. Wind will blow them away.

Editing stage: 


doesn't quite add up to much to me. The effect is fractal.

Jess, Neopoet Directors
Neopoet is a workshop. Poets take the time to read and think about your work and offer suggestions.
There is no obligation to make any changes however please acknowledge critique and comments.

Fractal is good, Jess. It's what scientists are finding as the beginning and the commonality of all things.

Blows your mind, doesn't it?

author comment

This is a fractal of imagery, but all things
come together, at least in the end, as does this.
The leaves dry up and blow away, and join every
living thing that ever was in their dusty journey into
the shadow of shadows, the swirl in the light, and the
eye of the opening of tomorrow's coming journey,
into and beyond.

Nice Anna. Hello to you and the family.


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