Ancient steps, aging breath,
Dark, stained glass
Entwined in bronze...
No shine, spark.
Should I change the laws of life?
Should I pull aside the Veil?
I can hold the roses of Heaven.
I can hold the Hell of thorns.
Places in Time, names forgotten.
Inner lights of buttercups...
Not picked, vased, or mantled.
Seeds.
When did I swim in primordial waters?
When did I crawl out to breathe?
Where were my families to greet me?
Where were the footprints to follow?
Never-time. Warm, candled cabin.
Snow-covered valleys to sleep in.
Cuddled,
Fading upward.
I can arrange the rules of Days.
I can mold the Crescent Light.
Never will the roses curl, brown...
Never will the thorns dull.
Fresh, clean, vivid, original, powerful and perfectly crafted. Everything a poem can be.
Geez Louise, you have a remarkable talent for writing...Your imagery, the flow of your words, your comparisons to, inner meanings to read into are without a doubt beyond any other..........Goodness, this is wonderful! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ~~~~~~~~marci.xo
How clearly you show us your 'almost' sister - your image in stained glass from long ago. You flesh her out with your evocative imaginings and reveal her humanity and the touch of her magic. 'Inner lights of buttercups' is particularly memorable. love, Allie xxxx
Elizbeth>>>Awesome use pf vivid imagery.....Like the storyline much...Structurally smoooooth as a coin tossed 'cross a freshly glaced icepond! ...Solid Penning, young lady! FjR
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A lovely poem, well done Colin J...