A Still Waters Edge
by K. Mulroney
Monday, May 30, 2011
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Funny how the holes and craters we dig ourselves into during a lifetime
become our eventual escape route, our creator.
Sinister and ominous in its inception, now offers little comfort.
I have my own cold mountains reflecting in the sad still water’s edge,
rejecting the black and blue gloss that interconnects with your passing.
Here I fall bounded by your lingering scent, crowned by an invasion of bulging gray clouds.
Not white. Never white.
I have searched this hard sandy front too many times, trying to find your print.
I loved you, you know.
And there you stand, revealed, in the ten foot high sun field, you wait
When I go away, crouched on the flat rock, straining to hear anything but the angry rumble above . . .
it says more to me now than the day you drifted by.
Inside the thunder you whisper, it’s okay to mourn, reborn in your words, your heart.
You promised I would see the white flight of life against the grayness. An angel dove of peace.
That life will crawl from the bleak breakwater and wait to sun itself on a freshly softened shore.
Transformed by your smile of understanding of who I am, what I need to come back to the butterflies.
Yellow stars will disband from the wet deep pointing the way to your outstretched hand.
Believing in you, I will start a long trek back up hill and remember that all those voids can be filled.
And though they are still holes, I will stand atop them, hollowed, never swallowed because,
I love you, you know.
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|Reviewed by Elizabeth Price
|Honest look inside yourself. Enjoyed the journey. Liz|
|Reviewed by stan nassano
|I sort of feel like a voyeur reading this one,buti may not be right in the head, your words just have a way of grabbing me,and pulling me inside,nice work|