Sunday, January 19, 2014

The Wisdom of Wind



The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton








Pillaged by nightfall, 
ashes drift on sorrow's surrender, 
covering the soil with soot.
History is far too repetitive for my liking,
far too tedious a task to endure.

I yearn to lean forward into the coming years with grace,
alacrity I fear I no longer possess.
I cannot hear the breath of wind through devastated branches -
radiant roots are splayed, torn from home.

Once more, the sea swells in my heart, caressing the shoreline;
currents of chaos will not seem to cease
in their attempts to shred memories, 
as though they are invincible.

Leaves stir, colors swirling in the depths of shadows
filtered by your bountiful branches that arch to embrace me
as I stroll, silent in my contemplation of this altered landscape.

This rising, ageless sun has revealed secrets
which darkness tried to keep away from my searching eyes -
tears fall freely now, pooling into currents
as I drift toward your love and its silvery, sacred tides.

I follow the path near the river,
aching for the source of movement -
I find you everywhere I look;
inside and out, at dusk and at dawn.

You whisper beauty into my waning heart,
calming tempests that rage slowly within,
releasing song.