Wednesday, June 25, 2014

My Sinking Soul

Om Mani Om

You have called it forth,
the sea of my love weaving
with tendrils of foam
the final fey form
of my sinking soul singing
out its loss of you,
a bottomless tone
like a Tibetan chanting
an endless slow drone.

September 18, 2010 12:46 AM


  1. Lovely poem from your cache. Equally lovely pic of boho style with nice touch of money plant.

  2. There is always death in loving.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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