Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Three Perspectives

Water over stone, sliding
with grace into quiet ponds —
subtle undulations and then,
stillness. The late summer flow,
a slowing down, an abatement from the turmoil
of rocks and ripples
and falling
into the unknown.


Folds of aged skin
once buoyant
on landscapes of flesh now
marked by blemishes
and scars, sharp angles and ridges—
poorly hung drapes in an abandoned mansion
of dreams and hope and a desire
for more.


Birds, the size of a baby's fist, flit by
with purpose, coasting
along  unseen currents, no care
for the ache of my heart, a gnawing
hunger that no food can satiate
no tears can alleviate, no death
can make better.
There is a yearning for more
but likely, it wants less—a
quiet, an ease,
an end.

If you like this blog, please "like" my FaceBook page and get notices on your feed when a new article is posted.