Sunday, April 12, 2015

CREATION’S CHANT     [Stefanie Bennett]
Do not wake me from
This dream. Do not
Stir the pyre
Or disturb one stone.
The wildflowers are
In abundance
And the hills serene
With their own dreaming.
Whether it be noon
Or night’s haven,
The opposites console
And walk
A skyway fit for
The evolution of mammalia,
And winged chariots
Of soft gold.
To my right
The marshlands murmur
Music of birch flute
And drumming.
To my left, a desert
As bountiful and clear
As permanent spring...
In the distance,
Wise spirits ritualise
The song and dance
Of the everlasting.
Behind me
A fearless rainbow
Bends to kiss
The sacred ground.
Do not wake me from
This dream.
Do not tamper
With what quietude
In which
We live and die.
Do not wake me yet –.
I am ‘not ready’
To face
Too human

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...