Friday, August 25, 2006

The Dreaming Cantos 65, 66, 67: Triple Triad 3


Afraid to be alive,
I wander in the world
of fog and listen to

gone voices in my head
afraid to be alive.
Deep-rooted voices whisper

in my head a bygone
fog of dreams that seems
afraid to be alive.


The cormorants are not
afraid to be alive.
The cormorants are simply

drying off their wings
and waiting in the fog
to hear some poetry

about a man who sits
beneath a pine tree now,
afraid to be alive.


Afraid to be alive,
the pine trees shed their needles,
quiet down the younger

rhododendrons, still
blue voices in the sky.
Afraid to be alive

no more, the pine trees shed
their old growth fabrications,
voice their green and thrive.

~Son Rivers 2006

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