Breathtaking writing from S Francis at SailorPoet
This morning, the rains practice their rhythms on the skylights
That had let the day inside all night long, but somehow a dream
Found me. Now, with the rain I practice my craft of singing
Words over emotions and memories as they fall down to earth
Looking for a puddle to gather and be stomped in by a child
Who wants to see what mud splatters will say, dried on the wall.
The dream that found me had been sitting like a solitary soul
Somewhere on the broken landscape inside Thingvellir Rift
When the playful child god inhabited my solemn grey frame
And taught me how to play again with my children after hiding
In a cave that stank of piss, lurking, a tiny monster to scare
The first child who dared walk past my home, unsuspecting.
Too late, they had become suspecting of the playful father
Recalled from Tiger…
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