I decided to have a little fun making a video version of this poem by the same title (published under Poetic Edge).
Rising from this bosom, this garden of conflagration, from a bed of blessed ashes –
Uncurling fingers that touch the sky, a new song that woos the dawn like wind blowing forever across an endless horizon.
Your lips kiss the sun, its warmth caressing the soft meat of your face, affirming your death in life with a promise of life beyond death to life unending. Continue reading Protea Soul