Jerusalem

Mideast Travel Trip Five Free things Jerusalem

Rising up like a stalk breaching through the earth
light breaks against it in the shimmering air
the golden dome
an ageless call to the faithful
the gathered
uncounted pages scrawled over full of blood and death
and singing and joy and madness
shadings of faith as solid and tangible as the foundation stone
or light and flimsy as a seed pod floating in the dead sea
like the pilgrims who follow in the millennium footsteps
blown through the streets like sand
where the ground itself is trodden history
all seeking
for something
to find
to take
or to give

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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