Post by goldenmyst on Oct 3, 2018 16:27:08 GMT -6
Gypsy Highway (for Marsha)
The foggy ruins of my memory console me one morning. I hearken back to my Jack Kerouac days. I feel the ole rush of acceleration of chasing the sunset in a mad obsession to reach the Grand Canyon. We sail the land sea of earthen plains, blessed by Indian soil. The Bossa Nova road dips and rises through red dressed lady land with her rosy mesa skirts. We pass gaping gullies of ruddy rock.
Our reverie is born of dewy-eyed love. I am spellbound by her Madonna mystique. We follow the sun west till it sets in a flower burst.
The last petals settle on the horizon in an orange blossom grail. Twilight douses the sun wick. The desert melts into a night of desolation hymns eternal. Her Mona Lisa smile is cast in intimate shadows.
We gather miles like beads in a rosary ritual. The days come and go. The night flies by us on our flight through the Painted Desert. My true companion is by my side on our mad-capped adventure.
The following night Eventide is painted pastel pink on our spired chasm of dreams. We watch pearly stars emerge in the velvet night canvas. Our forms are cast in twilight hues. Our paths would diverge. Our oracle unfolds as silently as the night sky.
We follow the road home. Windham Hill music suspends my beloved and I in an ambient reverie of speechless Sphinxes. Ahead is a convertible with a lady passenger wearing an elegant wide-brimmed hat.
Her scarlet scarf flutters in the breeze like a Himalayan prayer flag. She crests the parched hills as we follow in a desert dance.
Like Bedouins, we are nomads on a quest for an oasis. We drink from the same well in the bazaar of many tongues.
One night, a decade after our divorce, my heart speaks to me in a dream. In my dream, we gaze at the palaces of stone whose red spires rise in the rosy rock of Vishnu’s temple. We descend into the chasm of old love. We follow the trail of tears deep into the canyon where water tumbles in green waves.
Our path to the past takes us to a lodge where weary hikers find rest. The ferryman waits to take us farther across the river Lethe into the new covenant. His boat churns the dark water.
We retrace our steps ascending under the pale blue sky on feet of clay. We pace the ancestral path in the unity of soul and oneness with the Great Spirit. We cross the pelagic continent like buffalo migrating to fresh green grass.
The foggy ruins of my memory console me one morning. I hearken back to my Jack Kerouac days. I feel the ole rush of acceleration of chasing the sunset in a mad obsession to reach the Grand Canyon. We sail the land sea of earthen plains, blessed by Indian soil. The Bossa Nova road dips and rises through red dressed lady land with her rosy mesa skirts. We pass gaping gullies of ruddy rock.
Our reverie is born of dewy-eyed love. I am spellbound by her Madonna mystique. We follow the sun west till it sets in a flower burst.
The last petals settle on the horizon in an orange blossom grail. Twilight douses the sun wick. The desert melts into a night of desolation hymns eternal. Her Mona Lisa smile is cast in intimate shadows.
We gather miles like beads in a rosary ritual. The days come and go. The night flies by us on our flight through the Painted Desert. My true companion is by my side on our mad-capped adventure.
The following night Eventide is painted pastel pink on our spired chasm of dreams. We watch pearly stars emerge in the velvet night canvas. Our forms are cast in twilight hues. Our paths would diverge. Our oracle unfolds as silently as the night sky.
We follow the road home. Windham Hill music suspends my beloved and I in an ambient reverie of speechless Sphinxes. Ahead is a convertible with a lady passenger wearing an elegant wide-brimmed hat.
Her scarlet scarf flutters in the breeze like a Himalayan prayer flag. She crests the parched hills as we follow in a desert dance.
Like Bedouins, we are nomads on a quest for an oasis. We drink from the same well in the bazaar of many tongues.
One night, a decade after our divorce, my heart speaks to me in a dream. In my dream, we gaze at the palaces of stone whose red spires rise in the rosy rock of Vishnu’s temple. We descend into the chasm of old love. We follow the trail of tears deep into the canyon where water tumbles in green waves.
Our path to the past takes us to a lodge where weary hikers find rest. The ferryman waits to take us farther across the river Lethe into the new covenant. His boat churns the dark water.
We retrace our steps ascending under the pale blue sky on feet of clay. We pace the ancestral path in the unity of soul and oneness with the Great Spirit. We cross the pelagic continent like buffalo migrating to fresh green grass.
Everyone have a great weekend!!!!