Lions Mane

The heart is a door of sorts
into ones life
some parts well hidden
plain others in sight

Kindness the latch
perhaps
trust is the key
in order to view
what drums
inside of me

Under the duff is dirt
treasures and trash
the stuff of a life
lay concealed
‘less you ask

Knock the wood frame or just
ring the old bell
Is anyone home with
good stories to tell?

Blood rare occasions
come, two fit inside
Here by the hearth
where confessions abide

A box in the closet
a plum on a plate
a song to be sung
a fire that can’t wait

A body with stories
of fortune and fate
A wrong turn back there
(oh, I can relate!)

Exploring our past we speak
with mindful presence
Bowing to find that we
share the same essence ~