The Soul Inside

@ W F Whitmore

 

We are as scattered as smoke

the shadows of the pillow

The quietness of a rock

the waves inside a bowl

The guard of the substance

in which words remain asleep

The glitter of the moon

which lures the tides awake

The secret of love

from which continues music plays

The moment inside the hours

which fill gentle days

The flames of the fires

which burn yet remain dissatisfied

The colors of the rainbows

which dance and become nuggets

And we wait

 

Woody