This poem is partially composed of excerpts from comments I've left recently
on other peoples' poems, combined with a few stray thoughts.
There are those souls whose raging storms
cause wildflowers to reach for the gingered sun
and release their fragrance as laughter,
buoyant and bold.
We choose to welcome death, reluctant
as though walking through wet sand, dragging our heels
as we leave sharp, elongated ruts behind,
harsh memories splayed upon the terrain.
Blackbirds sway, but do not fall from branches holding them aloft -
their claws clench tightly to bark as wind sets loosened feathers adrift,
slings tattered leaves beyond the glen,
following curves of earth's encrusted memories.
There is a permanence dwelling within these lines,
an eternity woven throughout as merciful threads -
each one is taut, trusting and divine.
There is a wisdom too deep to measure -
its peaks rise and fall as the earth's crust moves,
trembling beneath our feet, threatening gravity as we know it,
promising rapturous oddities and eccentric epiphanies to swell
from beneath our eyelids, causing vision to expand
beyond the nothingness we once knew.
Many of these words once stood tall and proud by themselves,
while others held the hand of the next to steady each other -
they arose as though diaphanous and wing-like.
Rare and beautiful you are when you begin to compose
these symphonies of terrors and tendernesses.
There is a palpable elegance within this heavy air,
laden with history, mystery and unrequited myths...