Wooded Mountain

Bitter blue turns in triumph,

Unable to gasp,

It climbs instead,

I can feel the blue,

Captivated by the brown,

Intoxicated.

A memory lapse, no knowledge

Left with feeling;

Every thought,

She's mesmerized,

Of blatant yellow, a bountiful surge.

A purge of all those distant thoughts,

Look right through to the blue, and time has stopped

Like a sea of explosive harmony,

Lies in the cosmic avant-garde,

Of creative space,

Ocean roar; hear then no more

Taken by only, hear the orchestra,

True then you speak,

As the sun at it's peak,

Time begins to fade.

Once I prayed for a decade,

What seemed so far away,

Hit me then!

I need time again,

Longing for the ocean roars,

Now it takes an opaque brown,

It's only a little while.

No time to frown,

Stuck in a spectrum,

All is lost

Look around there's a color whirl

Oceans of chance,

Which will you choose?

The sun faded,

Don't forget the moon rises too.

A pendulum of mighty force,

The mind,

Intrusive thoughts,

Grab a balance with out swinging off,

A see saw could never stop?

A push, a wave, a curious trade;

An elephant has ears, with a mighty sway.

Like a roller coasters drop,

My heart races and my mind stops.

Suddenly before time begins,

I feel so alive but then,

Life as you know it can hold mighty strength,

Pink salt from the Himalayas,

Black seed in Egypt,

I use my feet to walk, and my mind to feel them.

My soul longs no more than my heart,

My heart, no more than my throat,

I see it in my gut, voices speak not a croak.

Majestic strings put together,

Superstitiously? Not, a Marionette puppet

Clever, four winged, feathered!

Continuously drawn in like a shepherd,

Of the notion

A river runs red,

What had been lacked,

Could be fed,

As a deep blue raging fire,

Could turn purple with desire,

Save me it could be the last,

Take a chance, not much belongs in the past.

Here!

In tomorrow, the lock could be lost,

In my heart lies the greatest intent,

To print in reversal, rewind begin from the beginning,

Like a choirs rehearsal,

A mirroring reflection dealt with none,

From the epicenter,

A cell, deep in all within one.

A white bright light,

With red burning air,

Extinguished in thin air,

Everything but dust,

A chanty but soul-full remark,

A decimal carried in the dark,

A fine energy almost white,

Any color that comes from none,

It is bright.

To be carried, and loved, it takes a picture,

Within bleak measures a tint above citrus,

Not so limey, but sends happiness and warmth,

An angelic halo, not built but born.

Michelle Golston

05•6•2021