The Campfire

a lone form sits
in front of fire
a sacred glow
on sea of black

as sparks rise
to eternity
I warm my hands
cold nips my back

giant shadows shelter me
dark branches reach for stars
I shiver
then look out again
as time swims into hours

a tiny speck of being I am
no more no less than all
alone
yet somehow one
I know the peace of home

a hint of bright appears beyond
a light begins to grow
moon man crawls up into night
revealing worlds below

in silent silver majesty
on every hill I see
the silhouettes of noble elk
taking midnight tea

the curtain lifts
strange voices shriek
a thousand years unfold
as Nature’s unseen opera shouts
to spirits now and old

with these wild
coyote swoons
I watch Man’s dreams
fly past the moon

Tio Stib, 2015

You might also enjoy: Imagine Water, Dead Horse Point
Tags: Nature, campfire, Tio Stib, blind poet, blind writer, poetry, solitude, traveling, wildness,
wilderness, Oneness, moonrise, wonder, peace, home, tranquility

Tio Stib, 2015

You might also enjoy: Imagine Water, Dead Horse Point

One thought on “The Campfire

  1. Pingback: Hell’s Canyon | Travels with Tio

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