Poetry With Hart

“Follow the spirit
of freshwater streams safe
to sanctuary

prisms light the way,
don’t stray too far from the bank
soon, find home again.”

Last words from the cave
as I followed direction
lit by sun and moons.

Like spectacle gleam
two moons peered behind the clouds
as I stream bound walked

witness to the joy
of Naiads at play, splashes
sound of chimes and bells.

I abandoned fear
for a moment, stripped shoes off
to dance among them.

Entranced by movement
time passed before I saw them,
moth wings, jewel-like eyes

watching, spying there
at the edge of the tall grass,
curious smiles.

They waved beckoning
slow but insistent, speechless
evident meaning.

A pull, a tether
they drew me in with subtle
grins, soundless lilt.

Parting between reeds
a feast awaited, syrup
sweet berries dripping

small delicate hands
in flight swarming, feeding me
delight in motion.

Ripping teeth tearing
bestial snap into tender
button mushroom flesh.

I tasted nothing,
but salt, saline whispers of
flavor across tongue.

Full satiated
appetite, or so I thought…
the moth light wings danced.

Breeze, cut grass drafts
brush soft on skin, stripping down
to feel more, be more

like them, free of thought
din of stress gone, I undressed
to feel everything.

The meadow alive
smelling of fresh warm linen
hints of lavender.

The wings surrounded
my form, brush soft on my skin
feathery torment

past bliss, butterfly
kisses over every inch
until sleep took me.

Once again alone
to dream of home, renewing faith
that I one day could.