Mysticism

Stop and smooth the fluffy pillow
Hear the hacking and shrilling
Witness shintonistic birthing rites
Unusual smell, refreshing yet bitter.
Spackled dust rises from fractured ground,
The figures echo no stigma,
no whimsical compassion, just quiet exhilaration.
Though impudent, still orthodox.

The preamble, read with dexterity.
Old as time, reinvented yesterday.
Move ahead, and rendezvous with seer.
This place, sequestered.
Tact’s unnecessary.
We tithe to the seer, responds with vigor.
Moments I covet.
I feel energy, of pandemic proportions.

(found poem)



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poetry copyright 2002 fireflyhotaru, so dont steal! I collect swords and sharpen them on a regular basis for the mere reason that they get so worn out chopping human flesh......