Lofted rivers of the capricious skies,
born of mystery, deceit, and defiance,
wandering about and forever more,
up toward heaven but not of heaven,
of habitats neath the royal kingdom,
where the heat of the sun wrestles
with the breath of the boreal skies,
sweetened bliss and bitter herbs,
jet streams slicing
through the combatants
like chariots afire
driven by headless horsemen,
defying the blending of the two,
the good and the bad
and the hot and cold,
the stubborn and the compliant,
lofted rivers with no waters seen
but waters relevant and volatile,
mouths of mystery
with crooked channels,
forever lengths with misty ends,
emptying into unknown seas,
ever slithering through the skies,
eternal currents with witted minds,
a penchant for seeing the invisible,
an Air God of the royal realm,
a sending from the highest
to the earthly,
a harbinger headed for the naked air,
the air with no identity,
a nomadic ghost traveling to nowhere
in need of a guide,
a master to put his foot down
and establish the course of the wind,
a lofted river to divide
the hot from the cold,
to command the motion of the skies
forever and ever and ever.

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Robert L. Martin
7 months

Thanx Nelson

Nelson D Reyes
7 months

Indeed - we are “a nomadic ghost traveling to nowhere
in need of a guide, a master to put his foot down
and establish the course of the wind...”

Love the metaphors. Thanks Robert. Like.

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Nelson D Reyes
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