Hiding a tree.

Take me to the desolate place, where no man goes,
And let me sit and gaze up to the hill.
Take me to the place of rock, and summer-living snows,
Where I can stand in silence and be still.
Let me taste the wind that whips the spring-fruit rain,
And let me feel the velvet touch of night.
Let me drink the endless wine of autumn once again,
And let me set the endless wrongs to right.
I will ride the winged horse, and fly out in the dark,
And I will run and breathe the starry sky.
I will dance with dragonflies, and sing songs with the lark,
And in the golden light of sunrise I will die.
Across the hills, and through the vales, let the eagle soar
And carry wordless voices on a sigh.

A single wing beat floats, waves crash on the shore
And with soundless raindrop-tears I softly cry.

© 2ndwitch, 02/08/15

Blood is thicker than ink.

And I think.
I think that blood is thicker than ink.
Ink is also black, or blue, or red, or green.
Blood is red.
It is a myth that some blood is blue.
There is no definition that applies.
There is no delineation in my eyes.
So that I conclude that indeed
Bood is thicker than ink.
And on the moonlit horizon,
There is a star, shining and
Sending a pinpoint of light to
Focus on the man who sits upon
The shore and gazes at the
Never-ending tide, the shifting
And changing sands beneath
His feet pulling him in towards
The centre of this earth.
The globe of rock and earth
Girt by seas, that spins and turns
Around the burning sun that
Allows us life, is a globe
Of green and blue, with
No distinction between black and white.
There is no delineation in my eyes.
And blood is thicker than ink.

© 2ndwitch, 07/10/14

(With thanks to Roddy Woomble, whose song "Between the old moon" was the inspiration for this poem. See http://www.roddywoomble.com )