Hydrangea

wait until the world falls asleep,
and when not a soul stirs ’cept for yours,
let the walls of your heart fall.
take a step into the garden of the soul,
unfettered by the mind’s shackles.
pluck the wilting rose by the roadside;
wonder not why it smells sharply of iron
and return it. bloodied, continue on
exploring the flora to your heart’s content.
when the world begins to rouse,
spare a moment to find the rose once more.
petals to nose, inhale deeply and laugh;
sweet, floral, fruity, not a trace of metal
can be detected

mystifying whirls of sand rise up from the ashen dust,
raging along the desolate expanse with little care.
clouds gather at the horizon, preparing for the demystifying,
for there is no mystery in the earth water cannot unveil.
few travel through the unforgiving land;
none make their home amongst the dunes of sand
for the desert cannot be tamed by man nor life.
yet unlife traverses the eternal wastes;
despairing cries rise to heaven, unseen as wraiths but not unheard—
for the rain will soon cleanse the earth of danger and death.
harsh winds and scorching rays preserve its everlasting beauty,
the unsullied perfection created all those years ago.
cool breezes and gentle shadows begin to promise new beauty,
the disruption and creation of perfection for ages unborn.
when the sandy tempest finally begins to calm,
gold rains from the heavens, too pure to be touched.
when the skies have cleared and the air has calmed,
gold rains from the heavens, too pure to be touched.

my friend, tame thy tempest of thought
and listen to the heart once again.
lay down the lance of logic and drink
no more of the ground gourd!
walk with me where reason is rejected;
let us speak with sighs and glances sent,
loosen our tongues and laugh with our bellies.
the reign of rationale runs tight, though
far below thy brow, the heart remains free