By Danny Swentkofske
I sit with my back to the empty cold.
I sit with my face to the dancing flame.
Weary of the blackness of the night
and praying on the brightness of the lights.
I lay in the field.
I lay in the sun.
I lay in the grass and the bugs,
full belly, mind free.
I sit with my back to assured death.
I sit with my face to serene life.
Praying on the safety of my tent,
and the warmth of the flame.
I lay in the open.
I lay in the dark.
I lay in the chiggers and tics,
empty belly, mind gone.
All are made free,
and tread as they please.
Mother wears souls;
the strong survive.
as gold fingers
as Apollo’s feet
flee the scene.
None dare tread
where Hestia hasn’t blessed.
continuing Her cycle.