Charlotte Ballard


Oak Tree


The silent breath of the creator
Moves above my soul
Whispering my name.
Frozen passion catches
Bright glimpses of emerald
Where robins and jays
Compete for embrace
By the arms stretching forth
Humbly seeking
Transparent substance
poured out
Bountifully, joyfully
Twined.
 
A Rude hand
Catches its heart
With the grind of a saw-toothed blade
And the floor beneath
A truant child
Groans.

Submitted: Sunday, October 09, 2011
Edited: Monday, October 10, 2011

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