The night wind led me
across a tossing field.
The cricket-scraping stilled
as I passed, a stranger beneath
a blue-shadowed moon.
The silver orb's
glamour fell
upon a ring of oak.
Their limbs interlocked,
The gentle giants swayed,
straining against
the ensnaring earth--
clawing the cold stars for purchase.
Trapped like Promethius
for some unknown crime,
they could not draw forth
their feet. So I danced for them,
forgiving them their envy
of my small
fleeting
life.
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I praise the Author of "The Prisoners".
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
This write is totally awesome. The metaphor is just so great. I love this!
Sandie Angel a.k.a. May Lu :o)
o, the imagery in this...wonderful write!
(((HUGS))) and love,
karla. :)
Leland