“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Monday, July 4, 2016
The mana of the fauna
Gaia is my locale,
Terra is my terrain
Inside this
aqueous bubble
flora flourishes
thick and suspended amid
the primordial brew.
This is my realm-
while I am at the helm
I am in my house,
an island broken free.
The sky is not too far away,
a ceiling just out of reach.
On the tip of my fingers,
on the tip of my tongue
I taste the expression
Home sweet Home
and am parched
waiting by the door.
Image By en:Gerard van Schagen [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. World map c. 1689.
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