Poetry: Temazcal

There is a magic place I know,
Of mounts and fertile fields below,
Of caves bestrewn in herbs and flowers,
Of burning rocks that steam for hours.

A fire blazing – bringing glow to doors,
With trees and grasses brewing in my nose.
Where breath is deep and passes through my whole,
Where thoughts depart and leave pure my soul.

The eagles fly through my own vision,
I am a feather in their midst,
The ever present in my omission,
The strength of fire in my fist.

The all and every –right here and now,
From all four corners to the center comes,
The endlessness of which I cannot know,
But part of which I burn with strength of many splendid suns.

Each drop of sweat to bring me closer.
Each wingless flight upon the valley hither,
Is my reward from warriors heretofore chosen,
Whose songs I sing to make my fears all whither.

Oh, our great mother,
Will you accept me in your fold?
Oh, time, our own great father,
Will you unleash my struggling soul?

Oh, brothers, long since but forgotten,
In whose image we try not be rotten,
Oh, how I pray to be no farther,
Than our embrace will let us to behold each other.

And when time comes for winds to cool what’s become molten,
When victory over self and pain does truly sing,
I will unbend as now a warrior wrought in
The eternal fire of my long lost kin.

Poetry: Stumbling
Poetry: The Chase

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