Come sit around
the fire with me.
No, I won’t tell you
of my travels and travails.
My story is not one
of words and images, nor
of endings and beginnings.
I may not even have
any story at all.
My soul journeys in circles
with the wind,
flows with the rivers,
blossoms and withers
with the flowers,
appears and fades
with the rainbows.
I am both fairy and sorcerer,
a hermit that prays
a warrior that slays.
I wish to dance with angels
and drink with demons.
There is no pleasure
in the purely divine.
I am a prison
of many beings.
I am both empty and full,
a crowd in my solitude,
a sage one moment,
and a fool the next,
a child at play
in the morning,
an old man
rocking the chair
when twilight comes.
(Redmoon of Bukidnon likes to describe himself as a trying-hard poet.)
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