The Emissary

The whispering wind,
the ruffling hair,
the dancing starlings dart,
within the trees where boughs are bare
the herald’s messages depart.
Molded clay so slips, slide low,
chanting silence doused
with thoughtful words,
it laughs the laughter of an arrow
where no angel soars with birds.
The fiery bow, the falling stars,
the planner of all life
pursues his passion through clay’s bars,
for the warlock’s magic is but strife.
Magic is an essence,
an aura with charming turns,
breathing chords, mastering deceptions,
forcing new concerns.
The purity of obsession
casts pale yellow on the wood,
drinking deep of this confession
sailing as all should.
Shelter chaos vibrant colors,
teach what is unknown,
melt the oceans sparkling fury,
turn the sun to stone.
The Emissary can be heard,
naked, unrefined,
perfect in innocence,
though to each differently defined.
The whispering wind,
the ruffling hair,
the dancing starlings dart,
within the trees
where boughs are bare
the herald’s message departs.

-Intuitive Ginger

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