Monday, June 25, 2012
The scent of jasmine, silken, wafts through
the now open window.
A montage of breeze and balm and mercy clears demons, cleans house.
I hum their death song as they flee.
It’s a pleasant tune
and soon the whistle of the wind chimes in.
Warmed, I am like granite
in my resolve
to banish all that’s flawed.
Not a scrap or scantling left of that devilish dust,
settled too long, here, where I make my home.
Tonight, I’ll sleep, unafraid of sunset-
In this made new domain, affirmations ample silence accusations.
Standing on truth, I am trapped no longer.
I take refuge in a hiding place I always knew existed.
The Sunday Whirl