my soul hath returned <br />to the beginnings of faith, <br />before written history, <br />before there were words. <br />when god walked naked in the darkness, <br />her long hair birthing leaves <br />on branches that wept. <br />the stones whispered praise, <br />the trees bowed in prayer! <br /> <br />the gutteral moan of the wind <br />haunts the walls of the cave. <br />i dream of fire, <br />both shaking and sweating with cold. <br />while god talks with the wolves, <br />the turtles, and the owls. <br />and sounds mimic night <br />making love with herself! <br /> <br />dawn calls from a faraway shore; <br />the waterfall hesitates, <br />as if in waiting! <br />unseen hands rub stick against stick, <br />till the spark of dreams ignites! <br />moan, groan, and the flap of wings... <br />and the only name be heartbeat! <br /> <br />i am stone, i am tree, <br />i am river, i am wind... <br />i am the sound of nothing, <br />and the face of the formless! <br /> <br />primitive, and naked, <br />i walk with god... <br />and nurse at the breasts of infinity!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/returned-primitive/
