She that is hidden in the folds of the crow feet
Slowly creaking from the corners of my eyes
She lodged in the pit of my stomach probably since before time
She, the one asleep since eternity bidding time
She that stirs whenever a moment passes by
A moment that encases the whiff of her kind
Of the magical dream catchers and the ocean
A moment that brings back the wind in my hair
Tossing them into a lioness like mane
A moment that holds within its hands,
7 lives of wisdom, and the sulphur of dreams
She picks up the moment sews it to her eye
She goes back to sleep, she bids time
She has been tossing more often, from side to side
She talks in her sleep, “soon” she says
She, will be, and wash over me
You have a beautiful blog. Enjoyed this poem to the pieces.
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