Bread of spirit

…and then she rose and spoke and a calm energy filled the space and they knew the ground she standeth on was but hallowed ground, as her words flowed, so too their ears were filled with longing, not for the sounds or rolling of tongue but for the space between, for as the stress of sound and syllable left her tongue to reach the ether so too their hearts filled with remembrance of a yesterday when whence the first remembered their own silent song of longing and fulfilment.

As the drums of man beat out its tone the blood of life flowed from their veins and trickled through the earth to join that holy moment of life and love and foreverness. Her words were but a dance of destiny evoking not the mind of man but of tomorrow and a new dream, they troubled not the intellect for they closed the door against such a fiery guest, yet they flew from the windows to reach the stars and she, yet she knew it not, formed and kneaded the bread of spirit that their spirits together echoed and bellowed a thousand worlds.

…and words were no more. ∞

Credits: Writing © justme; Image: CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved

Cold day

This image is a memory of the cold snap in February 2012 when the Danube froze over. For a week the temperature dropped and that created a sense of crystal clear sharpness and clarity. A moment in time, full of beauty and magic and before we even know it – it is gone forever. God is in the detail – discover it !

By justme 

Face drawn to the window, were splattered frost clings for life.
Closing gaps jig-sawed across the smoothened pane.
Here the milk white snow tried to grip.
It tried in vain.
This man looks out to see a world of virgin white one day.
An albino beach rolls before me having devoured everything.
Brave enough to stay

A lot untouched, unspoilt, unmoved, as walking places succumb to the tramp of man
Humans on the merry go round.
The human trail, or is it trial? Life today does not look so grand.
Billboards fire a festive red, while avatars with perfect smile like statues stand.
Their ever open eyes watch the show in front, called daily bland.
Coal black crows sharp eyes lead them to the life giving food.
Their formal dress, no camouflage, but no need,
As the people look mostly to the ground or from a zipped up hood.

No bees buzz except human ones, no midgets itch or fright.
All talk the same, the snow, the cold, the forecast tonight.
The sun and blue sky is but a prodigal now,
although it too would be welcome home.
Snow lidded cars with opaque windows hide the drivers as the engines groan.
Bellowing smoke of quivering and shaking exhaust shoots and coughs it work to heaven,
Which is not that far away.
The clouds touch the top of buses and buildings and pylons. Dark and grey.
The rigid wires hold barb-wired icicles dangling above the unaware heads of men.
Like crumpled blank paper, stiffened and cold a once comforting blanket lays.
The few trees noticed protect their inner sanctum by sacrifice of their foliaged hem..

Practical is the percentage fashion as ladies cover their Friday hair.
No brazen colours blush, just dull will do, as long as comforts there
No bouncing children today, the piercing cold kills each living cell.
No gossip time, no time to stop,
The temperature, as the night draws,
just fell.

Yet look at this, this wonder show, forget the weather the frost or snow.
This is life in its entire drab
A million others would just love to grab.
When we have it we want it to go.
When it’s sunny, we love the snow.
Maybe the truth is we just do not know, and will never be satisfied until we have,
nowhere to go.

Poem © justme; Image & Reflection: © Michaela; All rights reserved