Early evening.
The trees turning black and blacker.
The snow turning blue.
Winter clamped and hard.
Only the fire consoles me.
And the eyes and mouth and hands of fire.

Twin birds in each ear.
A fox on each cheekbone.
The candle flaming along its flat nose.
Exploding on its skull, a blue cosmos.
The dream-tiger's head
snarls silently on the white wall.
Ten thousand tiny beads of many colors
pinned into beeswax over carven wood.

Vision animal.
Power decayed into Beauty.
Mercado junk food for the soul.
In its blank, fierce eyes,
some shaman's storm of wild music still frozen there.

by Robert Dana

Comments (7)

Very meaningful and meditative poem. Well penned. Great Enjoyed reading it Thanks for sharing with me
'what is this i have in me i cannot show to all'... good phrasing there...liked...10...
a part of me to a part of it I become as a i grow in it's warmth within me..Very original poem one of your own +++10 The soul indeed is whole being and no one can hide shows in the eyes in the manner of his self...just look in the face of Nelson Mandela. regards Do you notice poeple leaving this site and viewing numbers falling
That soul never dies, but only the body grows and dies
An extraordinary poem, but very well written. one of your better works. Lynn
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