Statue Of Sarella
© Surazeus
2016 10 26
Sarella dances lithe around oak tree
where hundreds of hanging masks twirl in wind
and sprinkles fairy dust on every head
till they all sparkle in rays of moonlight.
"I can say whatever glows in my heart
without care for what anyone may think
because no one cares about what I say,
thus my words are nothing but puffs of wind."
Kneeling among gold daffodils, she smiles
and hugs her silver pet wolf with gold eyes,
then they leap together on river shore,
and her long red hair flows around her face.
From shadows of fear a sharp arrow zings,
missing her heart as she twirls in free joy,
and twangs quivering in the ancient oak tree
where the white raven laughs in sudden rain.
Sarella reaches out her hand to touch
my broken heart that bleeds tears from her eyes,
then flies along the winding river shore
to catch the white raven of my lost soul.
Stopping in her pursuit of happiness,
Sarella takes one mask down from her tree
and locks it tight to cover emptiness
which embodies the lightning of my soul.
Encased again in flesh of tingling lust,
I rise reborn from mud of pulsing Earth
and reach my hand to touch her clean white face
that shimmers smooth as marble in bright snow.
"You are the kindest woman in this world,"
I whisper to the statue of her soul
that stands ten thousand years, alone and mute,
and stares forever at transforming stars.
Long after the temple of solid stone,
where people worshipped her ten thousand years,
crumbles to sand in swirls of rain and wind,
she stands on the mountain of dreaming trees.
I wandered in the wilderness so long
that when I found her statue on dead plain
I forgot the spell of love that would wake
her joyful laughter from the dreamless stone.
Whatever name the people call her now,
Inanna, Ishtar, Athena, Minerva,
Brigit, or Mary, her soul never dies,
for she wakes in every woman alive.
Stuck inside the skin of her loyal oak,
while guarding her life in high tower of stone,
I watch her playing chase on the river shore
with gold-eyed wolf who leaps into her arms.
Sarella plucks ripe apples from the tree
that sprouts tall from deep abyss of my heart
and gives sweet fruit to everyone she meets,
then transforms to serpent with rainbow wings.
Slipping brass key into door of my heart,
Sarella opens cage that mutes my song
to replace my rotting heart with her fruit,
so lizard transforms to angel from man.
"I missed the pure melody of your voice,"
Sarella whispers in cave of my brain,
"since your eyes are island of my refuge
for true love in surging sea of despair."
Breaking free from her fragile statue shell,
Sarella springs alive with laughing flash,
and kisses me till my moist brain expands
into apple tree heavy with bright suns.
© Surazeus
2016 10 26
Sarella dances lithe around oak tree
where hundreds of hanging masks twirl in wind
and sprinkles fairy dust on every head
till they all sparkle in rays of moonlight.
"I can say whatever glows in my heart
without care for what anyone may think
because no one cares about what I say,
thus my words are nothing but puffs of wind."
Kneeling among gold daffodils, she smiles
and hugs her silver pet wolf with gold eyes,
then they leap together on river shore,
and her long red hair flows around her face.
From shadows of fear a sharp arrow zings,
missing her heart as she twirls in free joy,
and twangs quivering in the ancient oak tree
where the white raven laughs in sudden rain.
Sarella reaches out her hand to touch
my broken heart that bleeds tears from her eyes,
then flies along the winding river shore
to catch the white raven of my lost soul.
Stopping in her pursuit of happiness,
Sarella takes one mask down from her tree
and locks it tight to cover emptiness
which embodies the lightning of my soul.
Encased again in flesh of tingling lust,
I rise reborn from mud of pulsing Earth
and reach my hand to touch her clean white face
that shimmers smooth as marble in bright snow.
"You are the kindest woman in this world,"
I whisper to the statue of her soul
that stands ten thousand years, alone and mute,
and stares forever at transforming stars.
Long after the temple of solid stone,
where people worshipped her ten thousand years,
crumbles to sand in swirls of rain and wind,
she stands on the mountain of dreaming trees.
I wandered in the wilderness so long
that when I found her statue on dead plain
I forgot the spell of love that would wake
her joyful laughter from the dreamless stone.
Whatever name the people call her now,
Inanna, Ishtar, Athena, Minerva,
Brigit, or Mary, her soul never dies,
for she wakes in every woman alive.
Stuck inside the skin of her loyal oak,
while guarding her life in high tower of stone,
I watch her playing chase on the river shore
with gold-eyed wolf who leaps into her arms.
Sarella plucks ripe apples from the tree
that sprouts tall from deep abyss of my heart
and gives sweet fruit to everyone she meets,
then transforms to serpent with rainbow wings.
Slipping brass key into door of my heart,
Sarella opens cage that mutes my song
to replace my rotting heart with her fruit,
so lizard transforms to angel from man.
"I missed the pure melody of your voice,"
Sarella whispers in cave of my brain,
"since your eyes are island of my refuge
for true love in surging sea of despair."
Breaking free from her fragile statue shell,
Sarella springs alive with laughing flash,
and kisses me till my moist brain expands
into apple tree heavy with bright suns.
Wonderfully told tale
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