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Behind Walls of Data

In the Last Green Hours

Crucible of Light

Dogs (A micropoem)

The Angels of Hawksbill Mountain

Beyond the Gates of Orion

Sanctuary Within

The Sacred Opulence of Abundant Joy

Sitting With Stars

Light of the Tempest

Nucleus

Follow the Birdsong

Celestial Rite

One More Moon Beside Me

Legacy of Ash

Born in a Field of Light

Resurrection in Albemarle County

Dialogue With Silence

Moving Past the Dream

Deadly and Merciful Blue

Sky Full of Legends

On the Border of Earth and Being

Who You Really Are

Council of Stars

Scattered As One

Unfinished Bridge To the Infinite

Scenes from Within

Moon of Secrets

Memories of the Kingdom

In the Church of Ordinary Miracles

Finding Religion in Sperryville

Theater of Shadow and Light

Sapphire Birth

Web of Infinity

Voices from a Choir of Stars

Traveler in the Unseen

Into the Silence

A Soft Ascent

Through a Sacred Forest

Innocent Questions

On the Bridge After a Storm

The Sound of Creation

Your Song in the Ivy

Universe Within

New Empire

Another Afterlife

Where the Wind Lives

Another Kind of Prayer

Indigo Fire

Last Inch of Flame

Blue Home

Sacred Crone

What the Deer Understands

Some Water Lilies I Used to Know

Gates of Orion

Requiem for Yesterday

In a Moment of Understanding

April Snow

Symphony in Sable

Justice Denied

Gossip

Graduation Day

Fire from a Distant Life

Frozen Retreat

Welcome Jack

Remembering Spring

A River's Chant

Shadows of December

Please Live

Unholy Love

A Silent Knowing

Morning Candle

A Multitude of One

Love is Now

Follow the Birdsong 2

Archibald

Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited

Someone Else's Paradise

Canvas of Gold (A Tribute to Poetry Sites)

On the Edge of a Dead World

A Very Late Apology

It Is You

When Two Hearts beat as One

THE WOLD LIKE THIS!

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

 

Light of the Tempest




What is louder than a sigh
of doom before the rain
when it tastes like despair
or the perfect memory
and winds saturated with
the will to destroy, to
spill themselves like devotion
upon everything you were so sure
actually mattered?

You show up because it hasó
you heard the call of the infinite
in thunder, branches in flight
and trilling frogs
waiting for glory.

There's a swarming city,
a world actually,
80 feet in the air,
swishing madly without me:
an applause of leafy happiness
and untouched faith where
I am not invited.

The private citizens of
wooden empires have seen this
enough times to know
devastation is birth and
terror is life,
and I too should know it
by nowó

I'm not the body I travel
inside of on this human adventure
or the pieced-together persona
straight out of society's
central casting . . .

So beautiful,
this false night of rage, this
crumbling palace, this darkness
I wasn't aware of
oiling to the surface.

What is more cleansing than
an avalanche of sky and raw truth?

To be so perfectly annihilated,
so angelically shattered,
so mercilessly empty,

so new.

Patricia Joan Jones







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