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.