Monday, November 25, 2013

Beneath



The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton







In the autumn of my existence,
I waited, watching as colors streamed silently,
far from an elusive horizon,
the urgent edges of a madding crowd.

In the winter of my darkest woe,
I became immobilized by fire's deep, siren voice
as a lone, fetal sculpture burrowed instinctively.

In the spring of my thawing,
a trickle led towards an infinite ocean,
quietly spilling its song.

In the summer of my surrender,
I would lie naked under stars and dream
of mere roses that never bloomed,
ancient, unborn sorrows rising, instead, 
from fallow soil.