She is as fragile and vulnerable as a
Little White Bird fluttering and hovering
in the maelstrom of the desperate loss
that circumstances can impose upon the
unwary, leaving her distraught, unable to
carry on a life that has lost its grace and texture.
So she leans heavily on the comforts that
raw nature can provide, homeless and
dedicated to the choice fortune has left her
to be as one with nature -- a return to her
heritage for in her blood thrums an ancient
past. Every morning she waits for the sun
to rise over the ocean and each night sees
it set. When interminable rain arrives she
is discomfited. Indifferent nature plays her
role as supreme creator and mistress of
all that is, while that little bird cowers in
nature's elements, submerged in memory
drowsily awaiting the ultimate call.
No comments:
Post a Comment