Sunday, May 25, 2014

Molten Fire Dance

Across the creek from my brother-in-law's place, there is a deep stand of woods. When I first started dating my husband, we were visiting his brother, who started talking about the Yetis that live in the woods. He then offered to drive me across the creek and through the woods on the 4-wheeler, so we set off for a ride. It was dusk, almost dark. As we drove through the woods on the 4 wheeler, I sensed a number of spirits (none of them Yetis). We reached a rise at the end of the trail, and Tom shut off the engine and we sat there for a moment. I started to see a series of spirits in the woods. I counted seven, in all, dressed in blue and red military uniforms, wandering around, carrying out a variety of tasks. I was quiet for a few moments, just watching, and I finally told Tom what I was seeing. He was amazed, and with a shaky hand pointed over to our left and said "There are a bunch of graves over there...They were French soldiers." I had not known about the graves. That was the moment that Tom accepted my psychic gifts as being true. That was also six years ago. Last night, Tom had a bonfire, and as we sat by the flames, licking up into the dark night sky, I kept feeling intense energy coming from across the creek. It was so powerful, it was disturbing and unsettling. I'm not sure if it was the impending meteor showers, or the timing of the moon, or just my presence there in combination with fire (always a powerful force), but the spirits were actively trying to communicate with me last night. That is the genesis of the poem below.

Molten Fire Dance

Embers glimmer like molten gold,
Flames lick higher and banish cold.
Within the circle, colors dance
Orange, yellow, and green all prance.
Beyond firelight I can sense
Spirits active in woods so dense.

Starlight twinkles above my head,
With each winkling I feel the dead
Wand’ring, lonely afraid to go
They hold onto the place they know.
Sensing in me a psychic chink,
They try forming insid’ous links.

As I focus on rising flames,
Through the darkness a picture frames.
Taken too soon from those they knew,
Soldiers linger, their fellows few.
Down to seven, their numbers fell
Restlessly checking all is well.

Til the day they will fin’lly find
Freedom from the prison they mind.
Here they stay to roam through the woods
Keeping sentry, as soldiers should.
Reaching out to me in their ways,
Hoping I might shorten their stays.

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