2017 01 17
Gold fire flickers in the ring of gray stones,
casting shadows that leap among oak trees
where white owls beam moonlight into my heart.
Grasping anguish of despair from the dark,
I mold red river mud of my desire
to preserve faces of people I love.
The iron man came from tower of gold,
shining silver as he walked from the sky,
and swung beam of light that slashed off their heads.
I floated in green lake with silent frogs
to hide from the killing flash of his wrath,
and now I stand weeping in red moonlight.
Since mother of stars created our eyes
from apples and moonlight at dawn of time
we played in the lake of dreams without care.
I grasp broken branch of the dead oak tree
and glare defiant at the tower of gold
that blinds my eyes when the summer wind blows.
The apple drips sweet red juice down my breast
when I devour the heart of silent death,
and seeds of my hope sprout into new trees.
I hide with snakes in the leaves of my trees
when the daughter of the tower king appears
and smiles when I give her fruit of my love.
I hold her trembling in my tender arms
and show her the secrets of blinking stars
that fill her green eyes with light of my love.
She places our child in my gentle arms
and gathers flowers while I sing about stars
to the girl with the face my mother lost.