unfurl your dusty wings

words by Brian Thompson, photo by Jennifer Picard Photography.

i’ve seen clouds climb mountains,
i’ve seen trees taste the rain,
i've even seen the sky kiss the sea,
so why not me?

the truth of our being forever unfolds,
indifferent to our observation,
unbound by any qualities we try to impart,
immune to being ensnared
by our insufficient linguistic form.

the nature of things transcends all thought;
let go thy rigid grip on rusted ideas,
unfurl your dusty wings.

see the sand made of mountaintops,
see the forest made of traffic jams and exhaled breath.
see the ocean filled with nothing more than opportunity, taxes and war,
see our whispers kept under wrap by only a thinly-sealed atmosphere.

unfurl your dusty wings.

some might say we’re only here
to tell arousing stories with heroes and villains,
but what happens when the ink runs dry,
and the last of the campfire logs burns dim?

where will we huddle and what will fill our contempt then?

when man has no more space to roam,
and his fields of intellect have all been burned and razed,
where will he conceal his gymnastics of faith then?

there will be no more crops to bare.

unfurl your dusty wings, give flight to fancied dream.
cleanse your memories with wild-eyed wonder
of all its well-worn, battered tales,
head to hills of fascination where moments flow free,
let your essence touch infinity.

brian thompson