slanting over these trench lines,
arched and sculpted through the
wars raged over barren lands. these
front lines hold no army, but allow
the breeze of my fingertips
to raise the earth from the silence of forgotten
and over trodden senses.
there were wars fought, lost and won
across this battlefield of a being
now making peace in the breaths of aftermaths;
blood that spills can only dry,
and so it does, giving way
for new soil, to dig through for sunlight.
this land will no longer be barren.
i feel these mountains move when i look in.
these windows with their frosted frames
and crumpled curtains, they open
to the frivolous bush fires that yearn to shed light
snaking through the landscapes of a newborn life.
the view is divine. the view is pure.
i will roam this kingdom
without maps
as these paths are best traveled through
muscle memory; deep down,
i trust that it is here
where i have always lived
it is here, in the heart of this kingdom
where i will carry on living.
though my senses may sometimes be blunt
and unfamiliar
i trust that it is here
where my soul will take me exactly where i need to be
among the folds of the valleys
where we will meet,
again and again
in eternal embrace.
the man without a shadow
and i,
together we will craft
rivers of words and fields of colours
forever.
this kingdom rises
under godly skies;
under our skin and
under our eyes.
the view is divine. the view is ours.
