Tempest, the Lion.

The bird is the word?   Submit   Confessions of a heavy heart.

Rules for Winter.

Rattling trees spoke far away,
sung the words you screamed through the undercurrent of your heart.
and there was light far in the horizon, though you doubt your state of living.
Arise little lion, you know you’re in the jungle but don’t know your the king,
Just as your father was and will always remain. 
yes they are, temples made of stone taller that you’ve ever known.
Don’t be so afraid of the depths of this valley,
no one ever said to stick to the grooves of the night,
yet you drift like river tide. and its getting late before the sun.
the comfort that he brings , but you much prefer the moons light.
A borrowed light, used. But even she seeks a truer light.
But I’ve know of a place where mountains melt and become
pastures softer than snow, despite all harbored fear burned a love
through raging stills. Just like the familiar undercurrent was the beating of a drum,
louder and louder though havoc’s of colder fires. and by the time you realized this
never made any sense you’ll understand you have waited for nothing , no where. for the all the wrong reasons. meet the calm still again. & by this time you’ll know lions can swim.









— 1 year ago