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Rune Of Time
P Purus ( / )

Rune Of Time

Beneath the web-like branches of these solid
pine trees, I once again lie motionless;
my eyes upturned to the blue sky, I gaze
at the soft clouds rolling at heaven’s foot,
a nadir of white cotton candy
holding up the firmament. Yet it is
these wonderful pines that ensnare my distrait
senses in their web of wonder: branches
flowing enthrallingly across my
vision of the heavens - needles embedded
in the sky - bringing me into
their world of whispers and secrets.
Silently I can hear them calling my name,
their breathy voices resonating in my
mind. Theirs is the rune of time;
a lay with all the music of the forest.
Silently whispering to the heavens their
plea for tomorrow, with laconic style
evincive of their timeless existence.

One year today (I) last walked these woods,
a swain in their thrall. Now with the light of
age guiding my mind, I cannot bear to entertain
one thought of relinquishing this grace. Nej!
Such a haunting passion is too great for this
humble soul of mine. Yet had I the security
of past certitude, or the sedatives
of future relief, still would I cower,
hollow-breasted in limbo, naked
before my maker; had I the blood
of the choicest lamb I could not light
the offering. This understanding
of beautiful dark green pines beneath
the arch of heavens gate, revealed a
world of purity, outside the bustling
society. The soft whispering of the
pines told me all. In their rune of time
they teach; in their song of old they
call to those who wish to hear, “It is only
when you have lost everything that
you are free to listen to your heart.”

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