Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Blue Boughs



The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton







There is a sudden seep of darkness that swells within us all, 
which claims this territory of silent dread, holding us aloft 
from notions of peace, making us drift without a harbor 
to tether this ancient wooden ship onto a better, brighter shore. 

The fog rolls in, blocking the beacon that would guide us 
to sanctuary, keeping us blind, searching for a haven, 
a hymn to press to our hearts. 

Yet, somehow, we stumble onto stony paths, 
land somewhere beneath bending blue boughs gasping for breath 
as moon's glow breaks through thickening clouds, 
pulses swiftly through somber shadows to free us 
from these depths of despair that would wrench us wildly 
from the soil we seek as we surge into the light, 

whispering for solace to find us where we wait.