9-8-10

viola strings sing of sacred things
echoes of keys in marble stone
a hand held in mine two entwined
as cherubs guard the throne
thy mighty battle ax my guardian of fear
i draw the sword from the secret lair
the mists overcome on the highway to the sun
the goats are gathered to lap up the rum
scars are healed along the traces
there is nothing but beauty upon our faces
our eyes are lit with reflections on canyon walls
myth becomes real and what's real takes a fall
like stones on a mountain side in a flash flood
all things pushed onward by sacred mud.


R.