ON THE NATURE OF HIS TEMPORAL SELF

i am the voice of rivers
and the thoughts of mountain tops
i am the fright of desert wind storms

i am the piercing pain of thorns
and the seat of cavern stones
i am the hands of northern ice floats

i am the eyes of falling waters
and the feet of hurricanes
i am arms of an avalanche

i am the kiss of lovely Anna
and the heart of troubled Dawn
i am near the soul of angel Paris

i am the love of yearning lips
and the fierce and ruthless soldier
i am the lamb of forlorn travelers

i am despair for gentle peoples
and tears for ruptured souls
i am the hope of challenged mothers

i am the death of lurking hatred
and the burden of my mind
i am the mindless in a vacuum

i am the yet to be defined

(c) Erik, 11 August 2012, 10:14pm