If mind could emulate the wind,
a dervish counterpoised to chaos,
spiralling beyond the utmost
reach of human consciousness...
The boy with emerald eyes inscribes
his lines, Euterpe's favoured child;
the samurai slays creatures of his lesser
being to vanquish pride;
the huntsman aims an arrow at
his quarry's heart, and forfeits life.
the wind sweeps them aside,
keen as a bloodless scythe.
Poet, hunter, samurai
are whirling particles in space,
notes unleashed in time
that coalesce as lyre, arrow, blade,
and gather in, unwind, suspire
in flow and ebb of cosmic breath.
Like the Wind
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103020600346
Свидетельство о публикации №103020600346
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