was first seeded in Empress fires of the Eternal.
Strengthening with each passing season
and twin river-flowing through our souls.
The howling, demented winds
and screaming, slashing sleet and rain
are carefully observed
yet, penetrate the Truth of Us no longer.
There is a secret garden gate,
kept from all… but two.
A sanctuary not found in bricks and mortar,
but, stronger for it all the same.
My beating heart yearns no more
as you breath and speak
perfumed un-riddles and simple truths
with wide, ancient, chestnut eyes
which hold the key to the hidden corridor,
running behind the library shelves
in between both lands of Fact and Superstition.
Let canyons roar, mountains bow down low
and meadows of each magical moment
keep a-rolling on like warm Summertime, forever.
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his book ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096.
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