PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Once again

the dogwoods are

preparing for my

birth.

You walk like royalty

through the 

great hall

of maples, dogwoods, oaks,

but return a pilgrim

with God in

your arms,

and surrounded by

holiness in the

shape of polished frogs

and larks on 

the path to 

sainthood,

and some leaves

shape-shifting with

sprays of a new day,

dissolving so many,

too many thoughts,

the sun creating one

sleek, liquid voice

above the chaos.

Shadows are spilling their

versions of light,

when a lovely lady

steps out of 

the portal:

a doe from the other side of

our world.

With the bottomless

peace that is darkness

staring back at me,

she ascends time

and gazes into my

dizzying world:

flickers of care,

bizarre ambition,

hard-won, paper love,

the way humans snatched

a planet meant for one

teeming soul,

sliced it into the few

and the billions,

us and all the others,

forgetting everything we

once knew about forever

in this red daze

we pass off 

as a life.

Then I enter her

untamed story:

such primitive luxury,

galas of softness,

unforced joy.

She is the freedom that we are,

we've just forgotten

for a moment,

for one screaming sprint

from birth to death, 

for one flash of

glorious madness

in the shadows. 

Patricia Joan Jones