Spiritual

Spirit of the Forest

He's in the moons silvery crescent, And the sharp eye of a pheasant, The swift movement of a hare, You'll find him there Spirit of the forest Inside the towering oak, This giant awoke,
Poem of the week

Drifting

The world was born in ice and fire, With it myself, both truth and liar. The hopeless whorls of man's desire And unaware, I drifted. And eons passed, and then, and on

Peak of Peace

stepping stone to heaven