jadedmoon
Boca Raton, FL
age: 39
| How soon the 'tenders' of the field forget.
We remember not the roe which we sow.
The naked sheep are unweaving the cotton, white clouds.
A Harvest moon is fishing the stars, which fall like tears from a frozen sky.
Hope is with her suitcases, out gathering rainbows.
His face smiles like the warm sunrise, yet it wanes to shine.
Howbeit, a hollow man is the pulse within the dust of my veins.
I am cast aside like the yolk of a seed blessing; the soul's door.
(1/40) This is one of forty verses.
Jade
|
alicekathleen
Fresno, CA
age: 63
| Well, you better share some more of them!
.
|
touchofgrey
Oroville, CA
age: 46
| The Tempest
The shadow passed slowly between the dawn and the dark of night.
An unfamiliar sound, cold and lonely, directed her confusion.
Her silent screams fill the emptiness with guarded frustration.
As her heart falls victim to the dark.
The years had been heavy and the roads had been long.
Where was the Love?
A glimmer of hope calls to her from deep within a beckoning love,
warm, but empty as the heart of sorrows child.
Out of reach Far away,
She listens, captured by the faint longings of her heart,
hearing only echoes fade, lost and lonely.
Isolation pierces the shadows of her soul.
Seeking refuge.
Yearning for home.
Tired.
Silent.
Where was the Love?
Torment thundered in her spirit, angry and unsatisfied,
consuming her desires and draining her resistance.
Waiting..impatient.
She breaks...Her anguish demanding vengeance.
She takes hold of the storm and quickly spirals down
crying for a soul and screaming for release.
Where was the Love?
At last, in the calm of the early morning,
a voice from deep within whispered to her soul.
At that moment she knew.
She laughed the truth to her heart, and her laughter grew silver wings.
It was a long way home.
She spun and she flew as if the wind had ahold of her soul.
Laughing and dancing in her heart.
Finally..
She knew.
The tempest had ended.
In memory of my wife, this poem brought her home once.
[Edited 7/30/2008 6:21:25 AM]
|