Photo by Mike Birdy on Pexels

Alive, like flame undying flickers;
Bright of heat like friction, hope?

Yearning, yearning,
tendon, bone
from thirsty soul
that birthing wind
in labor must hold still.

Starving, starving,
let die what will
to strip what won’t
til finding naught
at last one must let go.

Poet; writer of imaginative fiction; lover of works of ancient wisdom and myth, explores the intersection of wisdom, poetry and imagination. Follow @CaelanRowan

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