spirit

I rattled all the chains

in the old kingdom.

Thinking I was wind

or dirt, or rain.

 

A ghost

pressed in

the miles thick earth.

 

A whisper stoked

by worms

or armored friends.

 

The bark fed climb

and I’ll be rising.

Find me calling

fresh, reborn

again.

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

Image

photo credit: Anita363 via photopin cc

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