Breath, furling around
fetus in the new fruited womb,
Dancing around the
living, until the tired sleep of tomb,
Curling around in mists,
caressing damp cloister walls,
And whispering in sad
echoes, down old haunted halls.
Seething, leaving in
winds & over oceans swelled heavings,
Through gossamer webbed
rooms, of spider´s weft weavings,
And spinning in the
vortex, of Angel´s lightly breathed sighings,
Ending in the gentle
breathing, of lover´s orgasmic soft dyings.
Breath spun upon the
loom of tender & summer loved breezes,
Whispered upon steaming
of words, as winter´s breath freezes,
Wafting through old
cemeteries, around stones of icicled bones,
Whistling down history,
of cold clutched hearts & sad lost homes.
Breath whispers in
harsh ancient stories, of sorry whipped slaves,
Wailing in the tales
of garrotted Knaves, buried deep in wet graves,
In the inhaling of
all life & the exhaling at all imminent death,
Breathing, the essence
of being, in the intake of our first breath.
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