Feather In Hand - Prose Poetry

"Feather In Hand"

I was running down an old Indian mountain trail,
sure footed wind swept hair,
heart pumping passion wild,
brazing a path through evergreen woods,
Yamaha keyboard strapped to my back,
laughing,
pone and feather in hand,
flying to the place only I know...

There is a place,
A gift from God to me,
an auditorium made from rock and tree,
it is here that I create music and prose,
in my mind's eye and in reality.

The sounds echo softly,
in this polyphonic chamber,
from mind to ear as I tinkle the elephant husk ivories amore,
sadly begotten keys to the door of my heart.

I listen to Mother Earth,
she guides my soul,
to guide my hands,
to add to what's already there.

Sweet tears of joy wet my ivories as I create actualities.

Have you ever walked on the mountain and heard sweet music?
It is I in the bosom of my Mother,
ecstatically singing,
dancing,
playing to the mountain...

Meanwhile,
in another time and place,
a nymph plays her fife to our polyphony.

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