Seedlings by me, Gipsie Lee

We are made from trees,       So it shouldn't be                So hard to see                    That we are seeds

Like small twisting flags,     Like horns upon a stag,  They call us hag;                   Silk they call rag.

Our earth mother smiles    Our sun father whiles         We roam for miles             Then fit like tiles.

Our place on the floor,         We create a green door    Gifts not a chore                 Life to explore.

                                                                              

Soul

A soul is like an aching wind,
It slips beneath the door,
Its needs are never plain to see,
But longing, how they roar.

A soul forever lost will be,
If searching doesn't find,
Death and life both pointless,
A heart that's left behind.

By me, Gipsie

Deathly Chill

Like a snake, or a cold river

It slithers across my hand.

Like the frost, it makes me quiver

But I beckon it back again.

For such secrets, does death linger

Bold like none and brave as Hel.

Wanting all the while to whisper

Things nobody else can tell.

Take me forward, slide me backward

Through the time of no between.

I am mortal, yet a vessel 

Of the shadows unforseen.

Gipsie Lee