creative healing

Drifter

Look towards the mountains
Before the green arches you’ll find me
I can no longer speak of the person I was
Now or then
I am indeed suffering a terrible battle
Of philosophy, the strangest and bravest one in history
Upon the fields of this very war raging
The sun approaches my alabaster frailty
Warming a sharp broken spirit
To perpetual peace
The acoustic conversations of those amongst the dried blades
The wingspan of a young white-faced falcon
Staring me dead in the eye, as I look up to her
Offering complexities upon the simplicities in our nature
Cast your understanding
Before the mountains
A young tall wanderer
A dark shadow piercing the light of day
Seeking fulfillment in places society dares not freely offer
A walk to the woods for contemplation
Beyond theory, principal and material
Lying under the November sun
In a dead grass field
I drift further and further towards me

By Chelsea Whitton