Six pillars in a circle
prosaic stones etched by time
its passage witnessed
by shadows intertwined
casting lines of light,
lines of darkness
across her fractured face
an eye, but no expression
a mouth, but no sound
Solitary woman standing centered,
among pillars of voices
rising in unison to an unknown god
Her primitive spirit
screams
inside her clasped lips
"Reflection is the liturgy of this landscape." Terry Tempest Williams
Posts
Just in Case
This blog was created to give my family and friends a bird's eye view of the journey I am on. If you read something that resonates with you and you'd like to plaster it on your refrigerator, bathroom mirror, cubicle wall or share it with someone you love, I am honored. If you read something that resonates with you and you pass it off as your own...shame on you.
Most everything on this blog was created from my heart and mind. If I share other writers' work, their name is credited.
Take good care and enjoy the gift of today.
Most everything on this blog was created from my heart and mind. If I share other writers' work, their name is credited.
Take good care and enjoy the gift of today.
1 comment:
Dear Reader...the intended definition of "prosaic" in this poem is "dull".
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