Bones groan from arctic chills
as snow swirls.
Curls its trance of silent dance
around thoughts of love
in winter.

Did I lose or gain?
The answer truly doesn’t matter
for, love always remains.

Whispering waves will acquiesce
cover with translucent ice
still allowing scenes below
where sorrow of winter’s
hushed deep sleep doesn’t
truly ever reach.

A legacy of memories
told in flashback, play
Of remembered songs with
words which hug like arms
renewing strength and energy
released from fears’ old
and worn familiarity.

In deepest meditation
I walk the tunnel
a ready volunteer
to bask in ambient light
not afraid of seeking
inspiration there
for all that I am
and, ever hope to be.

In that place
of blessed sanctuary
I speak the language of Angels
without the need of voice or
physical touch to impede such
incredible connections
of meeting

Soul to Soul.


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Shared with With Real Toads Mary’s Mixed Bag – Connection (Great prompt)