by C.T.Thatch
(Seattle, WA., USA)

Pattern seekers

With hands upon our foreheads

Calculating measures of

Consistency and Chaos

Looking at the miracles of

Parchment, paint and textile

Finding all the medicine and

Magic in our language.

Each private, lone beginning

Encapsulates our

Longest gone first days

Eons ago

And taking this reminder

Like a letter in our hands

And focusing our vision

To ancestral breath and mind,

We students, priests and healers

See ourselves through our own time

Building telescopes

Into our spirit

With them, along with those

Who would aspire to

Count the novae,

Know their mysteries,

We take our vision

Just up high enough to see

That we're the pictures,

Color, music of the stars.

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by: McCollonough Ceili

Being a lover of the show Bones. I really like and understood your poem. Thanks so much for posting it.

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