Out with the old: a new return

Finally the wood is stripped away

A few hardy branches remain
Within that parched land I hover,
that which was trees,
a tapestry woven by the eyes,
Those lush green pastures
that once worthy tale be now wilted
My eyes see that distinct vale
a desert freed from mirage
a weaving of might
Ancient records preserved
Safe now in numbers
Hidden only is that spell
Raptures within raptures
Visions like miracles
turned by a mighty one hand ....

--Matthew James --