Otter's Pelt

Relaxing at the river, aspiring art,
A playfull otter came, flirting with my heart.
I was laughing as he was splashing lively,
Frolicking, rolling around, life was lovely.
Then daunting dimness darkened time without night.
Near to me, he changed, provoking me to flight.
His haunting face no longer held happy glow.
With his pelt, his heart fell deep beneath the flow.
Then thundered through the grasses beckoning me
To the path, the Fox, showing me the willow tree.

Memories of misery seeming useless,
He let them go misguidedly and mindless.
Pert persona supplanted his pain-filled heart.
Pernicious disposal, this disdainful part.
Mind and soul rebelled against culture’s blunder.
Body surrendered, creative mind asunder,
Doomed to deny the truth, to delay justice.
Bound to keep silent, hold his tongue from malice.
Lost in a haze, his heart yearns for heroism.
Lost in his efforts, wasted blazes in time.
He can’t help admitting as he faces mine.
I traced the Fox’s path, committed the line.

I knew what I had seen and saw what he dropped.
Why can he see in me, what blinded he lopped?
His yearning for heroism, his heart’s longing
Has fell off in a schism, has tired of swimming.
Pulling back from the mirrored sorrow crying,
Knowing the Otter’s pelt was his denying.
Willingly leaving the pelt to river’s wilt,
Willowy waterway buries it in silt.
I wish I could see him swimming all the way
To the bottom, to recover what he may,
To hunt spirit treasure, bring it together,
To retrieve golden fleeces, taking measure.

His hands grab my waist, he stares into my face.
I look to explore his gaze, a soulless place.
Emptiness grows. I know he’s no shallow soul.
Divided he goes about playing a role.
He believes nothing matters, all lives scatter.
He can’t find the meaning, idles to chatter.
Everything dies, but what is left behind?
Man’s reputation ripples through people tied.
Person to person, connections we’re making
Are building the pattern, a web unshaking.

He leans to my ear, then asks for a favor.
Of healing he’s speaking, willow to savor.
Seriously suspects something is missing
Speak, though I do, he just isn’t listening.
I point out the pelt but he just won’t see it.
He can’t hear me speak the truth of the spirit
As if someone left him a filter of filth
His mind is infected with lies from the pith.
Frustrated learning of energy urges,
Confusedly living, yearning for surges.
With nothing I can do or say that can sway,
Wash it with wisdom in a motherly way.
It can come clean in the clear river’s graces
If he seeks to connect, mend in these places.

Otter's Pelt


Edwardsville, United States

  • Artist
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