The White Lotus

As I approach this earthy gate
the wind at my frail spine,
threaded with decay,
enclosed tightly in white.

The lotus whispers for the wounded swan,
pristine roaring grace,
lightly dusted salt on my tongue,
 crippled pink flesh.
My corpse fingers hesitate,
then lay to rest again.

The moth lands gracefully on my opened palm,
blossoming, ripe,
bringer of thy light.

3 thoughts on “The White Lotus

  1. I cannot exactly place what it is about your writing that reels me in to read more. You write beautifully. 🙂
    PS: I wonder if you’d mind checking out my blog, too? 🙂


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