silent as the inside of a turtles shell
lost on an island, washed by no wave
the question is how to swim back
when you’re cut off, alone and adrift
you might think its lonely,
you could say that it is,
but if it was wouldn’t I speak
not sit here sadly quietly withdrawn
don’t reach your hand inside my armour
i have waited far too long to be touched
nothing’s within todays carapace
you won’t find me there, so try not to look
Hearts are cast in spun gold,
life moves in reversal.
The cup closes in on itself,
hurt and loss, universal.
The brave knight risks all,
mapping the winding paths,
lost and confused, tiring,
he fights endless battles of old.
Rust turns gold to base metal.
There is no mystery here.
The philosophers stone,
well worn and smoothed,
tumbled by time,
rolled and burnished in tides,
lies at his feet unnoticed,
until he looks down and knows.
His armour thrown aside,
he sees through the eyes of kindness.
Enemies are only hurt children
grown and casting wild arrows.
There is no evil hiding in woods,
only spirits, frightened.
The world has a deeper meaning.
Looking again he sees blessings,
losses turn into lessons,
the balm of a deeper healing.
Love was the key he needed;
the heart is opened by seeing.
Base metal returns to gold
there was no need of explanations
when all was accepted and understood
sunlight filled the clearing
a path of soft grass
lead through the wood
the rapids on the river
a source of delight,
exhilaration, excitement
the boat spinning and whirling
a reason for laughter
as we clung closer
what cared we for danger
when in evening we returned
to sit warmly wrapped
at the fireside, together
the paths have become hidden
overgrown with bramble and thorn
twisting back on themselves
the Prince in the fairytale
hacks with his sword
to find his way through
to the sleeping Princess
who waits alone, for a kiss,
only a kiss and a promise,
in stories he is never exhausted
you don’t hear tales of his scars
he always succeeds
what a miracle worker he is
what a wonder to behold
astride his white horse
shining in silver armour
despite the darkness
there is a path where the rich scent
of old fallen leaves fills the air
the banks of this path are cut deeply
amongst the roots of the ancient trees
they hold the path, embraced,
they are not there to trip us
but to keep the way open ahead
the road is old and worn
i sit by the fire in the woodland
all is peace, gentle, quiet, dear,
yet my heart rises to my throat
rises like a spring, a songbird
wings beating, bursting
the well is deep, the moment fleeting
my pulse like water singing
drumming, humming
all fades away on the breeze
even as its golden light glows
shining out in the darkness
known, yet unknown.
home is her, and now.
it comes, it goes, the rose
it comes, it goes, the rose
the wild rose of the woodland
i run, trying to reach it
eagerness grasps only thorns
no perfume, no tender pink heart
better admired where it grows
soft petals shine out in the dark
dark trees loom all around
lost or found it blooms there
where is she in all i seek
she who holds the rose
why does she always leave
turning always to look back at me
she comes, she goes, holding the rose
she comes, she goes, holding the rose
i saw her up on the green hill
weaving in and out of the dance
i bow to her and take her hand
spin her, never win her
that wild, unruly, so gentle glance
as she turns and runs away
always looking back at me
always a footfall further
she haunts me still, never stays
she of the hill and the greenwood
where the paths all lead inward
deeper and ever deeper
into the wood i travel, willingly
into the wood i travel, willingly
this forest so wide and vast
these paths turn on fortunes wheel
darkness and light
all things future, all things past
shadows and clearings
silence and voices
a harp song on the wind
flute and owl hoot
the flash of a birds wing
in the night
i follow the ravens flight
i follow the Raven to the Tower
the gate is locked and barred
the gate is locked and barred
all is empty here
a hollow echo from before
i will not venture in
i stand and feel no fear
the Tower crumbles all to dust
i lay down my ancient sword
my armour turns to rust
my horse is faithful still
i trust to him and the Raven
i will follow his path
it is my own at last
all travellers have a quest
we ride on, finding the way
we ride on to once upon a time
over the hills and far away
where all paths twist back on themselves
always to the greenwood
the distant rainbows end
the treasure at its heart
the place where the rose unfolds
i dream amongst the trees
unafraid of any foe
guarded by a wall of thorns
protected in her circling arms
where all my dreams come true
i will travel on with her
wherever she may go
wherever she goes i will go
i follow in the dance
my pulse like water singing
she of the hill and the greenwood
queen of the shadows and clearings
my armour gleams again
i will be her hero
until my breath gives out
guarded by twisted paths
we rest in peace, with the rose
over the hills and far away
where time will never end
*******
a Corona is a series of sonnets strung together by the repetition of a line
The Dreaming Path 