T h e   D o o r w a y

sUBTLE  iNSPIRATION

When that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When the spirit of death is seen, the body of death vanishes from us. Death is God's angel of birth. We fear him. The dying stretch out loving hands of hope toward him.

Death is the door to the temple-house, whose God is not seated aloft in motionless state, but walks about among his children, receiving his pilgrim sons in his arms, and washing the sore feet of the weary ones.

- George MacDonald (1824-1905)

Twilight sharpshooter fields his prey

Sun shower umbrellas hold their sway

Unkind side walkers push their luck

Aerial flowers stand with pluck

-DT

caught my eye took my breath
marvel at this silhouette
imagine shadows melding
a jolt you're away
dreams speak not my voice
I lie a perfect fit
carved for me
stories
this gaze true
can't see you enough
more
this desire real
can't feel you enough
deeper

-  Kavindra