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Clay

Rating: 5.0
In its vast blue vault, the golden cup spills
over Earth's parched brow, unto its fevered, furrowed hills,
a clear ethereal wine, hot and pure, that mingles
with quietly devout, gaunt, prickly fingers,
humble supplicants cupping a rosary of sand.

In the darkness of their being
they silently gather silvery beads
that spill over like precious mead.
Prayerfully they clasp the scattered, quivering links
shattered like drops of quicksilver, pilfered from the land.
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COMMENTS
Barry A. Lanier 02 August 2007
beautiful breathtaking metaphors filled with life and history
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Sandra Fowler 30 December 2006
A very eloquent write. The words are inspiring, the imagery is exceptional. Write on, Mary well into 2007 and beyond. Warm regards, Sandra
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Duncan Wyllie 05 April 2006
A beautifully spiritual view from the heart, Amazing! Really! Love Duncan
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