Maven Waiting ; from the river to the sea

[jbstillwater]

He sits on his mountain, hands raised,
language strange, stranger still.
Oh song of the Katet, stepping stones
tied to string cut through his skin.
Swaying, born of another side
while children sit in circles, playing, praying
in a meadow of wilde- green.
They knuckle fate, devour; it is their right,
with nothing between but a veil
of promise-unborn and helping hands; hollowed children
hallowed
who do not and will not know
a caught-dream.
Yet he sits on his mountain,
speaking in tongue on this trek through life,
invisible maven
who has trodden the down and captured the hearts
that can not speak the language
of the man who sits on the hill, hands raised,
singing a song we have never heard.
He waits for the reckoning,
tablets born from a lonely place
buried deep within a universe he knows well.
He chants the storm and laughs the river
that carries his message to a barren sea
as he sits on his hill, hands raised,
struggling a tongue born of another side.

[johan]

What can I say Jan, have re-read this a couple of times, and each time get a different perspective on the whole poem, absolutey great piece this, a joy to read.

Hugs
Andrew

[jbstillwater]

Lol, A, this is a very strange metaphor I wrote not long ago about "fate" and the role that I think it plays in our lives. When I say "strange" I mean that as I wrote it, my fingers just seemed to take over the key board, line after line until the poem was written, I have no real idea where it came from!

[purplespirit]

Awesome poem Jan - and I think it came from the very spirit of poetry - a gift from Above to write like this.
Blessings remain with you! Thank you, Ulla xx

[Lisa Arnold]

excellent write, enjoyed the read, many thanks for sharing and posting!