Reaching to thrive, love
Walked the misted morn
As little frogs scramble
Barely moonglow dusted
Bodies pressed together
Searching the spaces
Between soft and darkness
Connected by need, desire
Perhaps the hidden moment
Tender the frail scene memory
is all that lingers now.
days passed
strung together
loosely
old lanterns
called the stones
where once
someone danced
laughter cheeks
red wined
the ghosts
driftwood polished
sandy toes
touched warm
his breezes
haunted
there lay
the caved
silence
where voices
roared
loudest
maysa-maria kristina gadelha peterson
“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.” ― Joseph Campbell
Mozambican-born Portuguese South African; reflecting on travel, writing, editing, life, family and change that has social impact; chief wide eyed in wanderer, wonderer and bottlewasher
Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.
The Path Towards Transformation
Providing guidance on the journey to mature masculinity
"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things." Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
