Speak to me of harmony,
As we step from the road of what was reality.
Into a living, breathing furnace,
Where milk and honey flow.
As if time itself forgot to tick,
And all of these counted moments mesh to one.
Harmony exists in each broken twig,
Connections flowing between rounded rock.
And the world as it were was molded,
From living glass, tempered and yet still not cooled.
Oh behold us within this world,
And feel the dust and ages upon our bones.
Let us shake them as ones freed,
Chains billow away once iron clad now upon a gentle breeze.
Live and breathe the kind air,
Kiss each passing cloud in turn.
And sing sweeter than a mountain chickadee,
All the while cackling with each seeking raven.
Oh harmony hear our call of deepest joy,
And let us revel in what truly is this world.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.
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