Ailymgnawdoliad, Innit

Dusk bone-throwing before the stone hearth
… ‘breast for love, wing for travel’…
and as you kneel there… it’s all Déjà Vu
… you remember looking down
(from a normal standing position)
upon yourself at this exact moment in Time
… from a yesteryear life-now-past,
whilst scrying glimpses of a future Tread.
Your hair colour is a slightly lighter shade
… but, your Soul still has splinters
when come upon from the wrong direction
… your powerful Heart is Tawny Owl
clashing ferociously with the amber of Fox…
whilst your Mind is modern day machinegun.
The first lesson of the day is: you don’t look
to other people to find yourself…
and your ‘eyes’ are not the vehicle neither
… submerge, centre, and spiritually-taste…
the Cavern hollowed out just for you…
safe inside where ‘intrusions’ do not exist.
I turn away from your ‘smug’
… but, adore you for your ‘question marks’.
A closed Flower doesn’t need persuasion,
tricks, or force… only warmth and sunshine
… a Mastered ‘Environment’
is firstly Conquered and Ruled from Within
… and ‘Grace’ and ‘Integrity’ are treasures
‘Ethereal’ upon monetary Weighing Scales.

* Ailymgnawdoliad is Welsh for Reincarnation

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.