Scrying- Michael Erickson


Raiment of fire was upon my brow as I looked upon the scrying glass.

Ripples of space and time pulled at the hem of my robe, begging to be heard.

A path wound between bushes of sage and wildflower leading to the water’s edge.

Forms twisted upon the reflected sky as I called out the words of Three.

Air shivered between earth, water, and sky as energy bent light and sound.

Upon a rock, I gazed into the depths of oblivion.

Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.

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