Not The Rockefellers

in the sublime  sanctuary of your arms lives Eden, unabridged  my will of iron rusts  crumbling into  sweat  making a paste of ash and honey you dip your finger and paint the day bright expectant the night clear triumphant your bosom heavy with sustenance  for searchers a pillow for slumber treasure your heart  is a place where both good  and evil sip from the same cup and die by the same fire Rene ~ August 2012 For Magpie Tales Image credit ( via Magpie Tales) Andrew Wyeth, 1948 "The Big Room"

I will keep my eyes upon you above all else minding not the storm or thirst for light hands circled around hope waiting joyfully for a comforting touch gateway to a better place hold me as I have held you in the sublime sanctuary of the heart Rene ~ August 2012 For Magpie Tales Inspired by Sydney Carton and A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens Image: Under Windsor Bridge by Adolphe Valette ( via Magpie Tales)

like her tiny glass turtle hidden under your troubled tongue steal me away Rene ~ August 2012

where am I? i am here where the words are once in awhile when they want to come out and dance god that's pathetic I hate when i talk like that like i'm some mystical door for shiny happy words to traipse through holding hands singing corporate love songs in perfect harmony on the berm behind the Wal-Mart that's not the way it is that ain't the real real thing Neil Young  could sing that  last stanza that odd collection of words how they would sway rocking their little storied  hearts out and I'd twinkle but alas they'd be buried on a horrible album because Neil Young albums are either wonderful or horrible and i own all those truths ~ where was i? oh yeah the words where are they? what a stupid question they're in me but they ain't coming out until i let 'em writing is a voluntary action it's not like taking a crap though it sometimes produces crap this too shall pass ~ ahem while driving throu...