the sun sinks into crimson
burning her aching heart
like a Rothko painting
the ombre bleeds
down to her soul
which is yearning
for meaning and purpose
but deeper still
love
is she a fool to think
that it's possible to have
passion in her life?
When she was a fair
maiden celebrating Beltane
she moved like fire dancers
to the beating of her own heart
she flowed instinctually
never questioning herself
never doubting
she trusted in mother earth's
lavish bounty
never fearing the end or loss
there seemed to be an endless
supply of love, passion
heat
but the darker days of winter
had derailed her innocence and naiveté
she no longer felt the fire burning within
she lost her way
as she uncloaked her heavy armor
out of sheer necessity
because it had proven
to be impossible to bear
she surrendered her attachments
to her outcome
and this freed her
to see the beauty that had never left her
she was only asleep
not dead
the depths of the ocean beat at her soul
wave after wave
renewing her spirit
giving vision to the wild
magical terrain of her beautiful life
the universe drums the rhythm
back into her soul
and she is born again
ready to take flight
