It is ….. Time

A barefoot, lithe, solitary figure
 confidently ascends the narrowing spiral wooden staircase
  silently cushioned by each aged teak plank
   firm mainstays of her purpose and direction
    cascading maestros to her rhythm and intent

Beholden to none
 impartial to every peripheral syllabus
  seeking neither solace nor acclaim
   emboldened by neither compass nor map

Scribe knows …..

It is ….. Time

Time ….. to once again
embrace her private domain of ….. Words

Sequestered upon this Isle of Trials
her abode, this mortal lodestar

Scribe seeks not to warn seafarers of danger
 nor to provide refuge from fault
  nor sanctuary for the wild

Scribe craves ….. the artistry of Script

Polished wooden stairwell behind her
She suspires deeply upon entering her lighthouse
 familiar aromas of wood, ink, paper and teasingly ….. light
  infuse her already heightened senses
   nourishing that which she most favours ….. Imagination

Circling clockwise…..
 brushing the embraced bronze chariot
  as her prayer wheel
   educing fond memories
    of faraway Bod

Scribe whispers
 her secret, intimate mantra for …..
  Chenrezig

Scribe, completing her lamproom orbit
 approaches her driftwood escritoire
  surveys her simple tools of
   Quill, Inkwell and Papyrus
    allows herself to exhale her final mantra
     and sets ….. to Write

It is ….. Time

A solitary erne Quill
 lightweight and encouraging
A faceted diamond Inkwell
 brimming with incoming tide
A pristine kelp Papyrus
 blank, only to the tame

All, attend her will
All, invoke her imagination
All, willing participants to the extraordinary

Scribe smiles coyly,
immersing Quill within Inkwell
  ….. Enraptured …..

Inkwell envelopes Quill
  ….. Enthralled …..

All the while,
  tides within and without
 ebb and flow…..
  rise and fall …..
 immerse and envelope …..

It is ….. Time

Scribe brandishes Quill upon Papyrus
 as her imagination caresses our mortal realm
  offering glimpses ….. of what might be
   ‘tween Zoe and Bios

A single, perfect opaline tear
 escapes from the corner of her eye

Scribe is never certain …..
A tear of joy
 or
A tear of regret……

It is now ….. Scribe’s Time ….. to Write …..

Heart of a Star

Pitched curtain of infinite dark
piercings of stellar infernos

no reason, nor rhyme
save …..
A star for each heartbeat
justly mirrors …..

A heartbeat for each star

~Scribe~