thunder
struck -
barren and stark,
against the
full moon,
howling.
a tree branch
cracked -
and I felt my heart
snap -
and my hands
shook,
worn and lined
from years of spilling my soul,
on pages
upon pages
of ink,
that turned to blood.
and you,
you, oh my dear soul,
how your silence speaks
louder than the mightiest maelstrom
and I,
my wings, white,
mourning.
I set my body
to fire -
blazing like lightning
that struck
once,
my breath
the wind,
my hair
the grass,
my eyes
cloudbursts,
my arms
rushes and reeds,
my blood,
crimson bursts
of buds that bloomed,
and my smile -
the sunburst,
that once did give sight
to your now blinded eyes.
you would not recognize me
as I do not, you
for I am taller
than the mightiest oak -
my limbs reach
through the dirt and earth,
to crevices and fault-lines
that can hold this planet together
or break it,
apart.
and you,
you once held me dear,
so dear,
oh so utterly dear,
and now -
you are a rock,
stuck in mud,
not moving,
gathering moss,
and I peer down low
and kneel,
in holy prayer,
and pick you up
once,
in my palms,
so utterly precious -
and throw you
as far as my soul
can see.
photo and words © Susan Marie
struck -
barren and stark,
against the
full moon,
howling.
a tree branch
cracked -
and I felt my heart
snap -
and my hands
shook,
worn and lined
from years of spilling my soul,
on pages
upon pages
of ink,
that turned to blood.
and you,
you, oh my dear soul,
how your silence speaks
louder than the mightiest maelstrom
and I,
my wings, white,
mourning.
I set my body
to fire -
blazing like lightning
that struck
once,
my breath
the wind,
my hair
the grass,
my eyes
cloudbursts,
my arms
rushes and reeds,
my blood,
crimson bursts
of buds that bloomed,
and my smile -
the sunburst,
that once did give sight
to your now blinded eyes.
you would not recognize me
as I do not, you
for I am taller
than the mightiest oak -
my limbs reach
through the dirt and earth,
to crevices and fault-lines
that can hold this planet together
or break it,
apart.
and you,
you once held me dear,
so dear,
oh so utterly dear,
and now -
you are a rock,
stuck in mud,
not moving,
gathering moss,
and I peer down low
and kneel,
in holy prayer,
and pick you up
once,
in my palms,
so utterly precious -
and throw you
as far as my soul
can see.
photo and words © Susan Marie