The Calling

As the rush of the grass strokes your hand,
And each dash of the wind adds a flavor new,
All you want to do is write about that distant land,
Where the only king your body served were you.

As the whiff of the waves hits you in the face,
And the squeaks of the sand clutch on to your feet,
All you want to do is rewind and play those days,
When the only ring your heart knew was its own beat.

As the size of the peaks reveals the grand scheme,
And the mystery of the shadows speaks of a friend,
All you want to do is groove to the ancient dream,
Which is the only string your mind follows at the end.

As you feel alive with all the senses firing the brain,
And the mind, heart and body connected at the core,
All you can do is ask yourself again and again,
What is the only thing your soul’s here to search for?


Image by Pezibear


Out There

Careless whisper of the drizzling drops,
Enormous greens bustling with crops,
Wild stares of the winged with a twist,
Magic in the ways and rules of the mist,

Out there, all belong to the creator.

Old leaves in the wind of old cheers,
The chaotic order of smiles and tears,
Shadows of feelings and their carriers,
Even the shapes of the broken barriers.

Out there, all belong to the dreamer.


Image by A Hopeless Anachronism