He is made of trees,
The mushrooms gathering around
Like the follower yogis
Teaching the god.

He has become one
With Time, the Liar,
As if unity
Somehow precludes
Fraudulence
From within and without
This dimension.

He has come to me,
And come to me
On the precipice of death,
Death being relative
To Life,
To endings and
Beginnings,

The fairy tale’s journey
Manifesting as one moment
That stretches us
Through the tunnels of being.

Joy provides the misty backdrop
To all of it,
Trust and Love
Obliterating fear.

The trees connect
With their integrated observations -
They recognize our destiny
As the enduring home
Of Love

And so their blessings
Take root,
To ground us,
To make us solid,
To keep us banded together,
To build tomorrow
In our every now.

11/01/2015

Posted on 11/01/2015
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie