Snoozing, snoring blessing. On a pile of blankets in the corner. Sweetness sleeping. Curled up like in a den. Comfort in heart. Comfort in soul. Even through loss she has found some type of peace. Being herself. No compromise. Only fullness. Only love. Only stamina. Only Elsa. - Cecilia Götherström, Jan 8th 2021
The Song of Me,
flies over snow covered mountains,
sings a spring time creek to its cover.
The song of me,
crosses hearts and barriers,
opens, moves and births.
The song of me,
is for no one else to sing,
but to blend in to
the song of all of us.
The song of birth, of cry, of worship,
of destinations
time and again.
The song of me breaks open,
moves crystals and rocks
into blessings.
The song of me cracks open,
that which is to be said,
to be done,
to be laid down,
to be rendered,
reunited,
rewed,
regained, retwined, regranded.
The song of me,
sings to the eyes of the soul
to the song of the gods
the eyes of the stars.
The song of me is the soul,
the spare, the twining twister,
the ever splendid galaxy of tears,
of joy,
of magic,
of serenity,
of wisdom,
of class and doom.
The song of me
is mine to sing,
thine to hear,
ours to twine
and twine and twine.
The song of me,
is of me strong,
of me being creation,
of me being all.
The song of me,
is of All.
The song of me
is you,
the you that is not
as me is.
I am
the song of me
Divine
Cecilia Götherström, Gävle 13/3 2015
FlowerOfTheThunderAndLightning 