Whisper

The September air

whispers

of all things

golden

and me.

She whispers

of the color of

my crown

- the one passed down

through my veins

adorned with runes

and knots

forged by warriors

and weavers of

tapestries.

She whispers

of my birth right

- the salt

- the light

which are mine.

She whispers

of the sea

that owns

my bones

and reflects my soul

- depth

- wonder

- the unknown.

She whispers

that if indeed

I am made

fearfully

and wonderfully

then

I...

am...

WORTHY.

For a moment

I believe

and I see

The warrior

The weaver

and The Sea

reflected

solidly

within me.

But then her whisper fades

into the mist

and the fog

of October skies

and I loose sight

of where to find

my kingdom's

keys