Sunday, March 27, 2011

Sunday's story

Clumped and bunched like cotton wool
clouds o’er lay the land
as if to stem the flow
of mankind’s fickleness.

Meanwhile the sun is setting
drawing, drawing, blood
from the gaping wounds
of every unloved lover.

Unperturbed the mountain stands
because it’s seen it all before
and felt the tread of footsteps
that belie the truth.

And the sea, well, it’s like me
rolling with the punch of vibes
and coming in and going out
from the meaningful.

Now that time has passed,
stars twinkle like my heart
in a dark and deadly vacuum
that blankets my desire.

But tomorrow there’ll be butterflies
and I’ll once again extend a hand
hoping, willing, them to land
and speak of grace and gratitude!


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