Paradise is here

_{this painting was made by myself minted on @nftshowroom and sold for more art of mine go here}

I can't remember if I wrote this for the poetry challenge in 2019 or separate but I found it today and decided to share it again. Winter always makes me a bit melancholy and long for things and loved ones I might never see again ...

Paradise is here

In the lazy morning hours, when sleep alludes leaving me soft and slow like molasses, I fall through the cracks of my armour. My hands play with moonlight, fingers fluttering like moths, dipping deep into the stream. Memory sings me songs of hundred year old beech trees and my feet moving swiftly over carpets of cool moss. Fireflies light the way to a freedom and happiness lost in the sands of my hourglass. I sway softly to the rhythm that becomes cocoon shielding me from a life and self I no longer recognise.

At the edge of the river my companions form out of the swirling fog, Luna the kind, George the brave and our feline brethren now mere imprints left on a grieving heart that has seen better days. My fondness for them becomes the delicious chip in my enamel that I cannot resist probing with the tip of my tongue. My eyes recognise the mirrored trajectory of their voyage in the sleeping furry forms filling my bed.

As I slip through the hole in the fence between dreams and what we declare to be real, I become the bird soaring in flight rejoicing in the endless reach of its kingdom. I am the squirrel jumping from tree top to treetop, celebrating every step and breath. I am the wolf howling, the tom cat serenading his beloved, the blue bird shielding her nest. I and my non human children, past and present, transform into a murder of crows, a school of fish, a heard of wild bison moving in unison, a bond that holds beyond the veil.

In the shifting tides between velvet night and budding dawn, I come to realise that despite the pain of my losses paradise is here. It lays in the love we shared, the solitary miracle that so few are allowed to experience in a world that peddles so many counterfeit counterparts. It lays in the forest that has embedded itself in the essence of my being, blurring the lines between our end and our beginnings. Those who truly see the me behind the skin, will find its wild earthy scent hiding in the curls of my hair and the rustling of leaves, just below their range of hearing, in every one of my movements. Beyond this broken shell I am the wind, the seed of storm, immortal being running with my pack, my tribe, as we claim a star clad sky.

on