Spirit Whisperer of Avalon

“It is time,” softly spoken the words awoken
the heart that was clasped in stone,
grains of time wilted, on dry stalks stilted,
blossomed from the dark fertile loam,
the air unscented became heavenly minted
with love flowered honeysuckle cologne,
midnight gloom banished from the ancient room
as cast, Avalon’s brilliant rainbow shone,
arising in the midst of a cascading mist
the Flower of Life reclined on a golden throne,
thus having awakened the dreamers were taken
back to their far off lost celestial home,
all humankind wondered as heavens thundered
“It is done,” leaving their souls lost and alone.

©2013, Donald Harbour

Passions potion

This eve there is a pristine magic,
It floats softly on the still air of night,
A potion vapor by desire’s sorceress,
Reflected in the moon’s golden light.

Held not by man or woman or beast,
As dandelion seeds drift on parasols,
The whimsical spirit wavers to want,
Shunning all but love’s whispered calls.

There wanders it through heart and soul,
Caught in a dream catchers spider thread,
To flame the passion tangled there,
Of entwined bodies on a silken bed.

©2011, Donald Harbour