Fractal In Sight

I am Source expressing my unique fractal of Sourceness.

In the he-man woman-haters’ clique, kin
close ranks, hiss and spit, crow about their wins
–cash amassed on the backs of god knows who.
True to their rules, they cast me out, woe to

the outsider. They call grounding a fad,
they’re mad that I am walking barefoot, glad
to be one with source. Born out of scorn, free
from the box, I breathe. Drawn by killdeer dee

–white plovers enact ancient dramas, cry
for attention. A fish leaps and skips, sky
flying. Thrills on the waters, I am deep
in the dew-soaked grasses. Attentive, keep

open as tiny mushrooms tease my dreams
I was a sawyer with piles of debris
moldering wood I cut to logs for fuel,
releasing the dead couplings to dual.

Inspired by: Clique, Sawyer, Fad, a dream early this morning about sawing wood that today’s prompt helped me remember, and (featured image) last night’s sunset show.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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