( To be read fast, and loud. Try it a couple of time. You will feel the message.)
Ascending through melting ice with fingernails of steel
with skin in shreds, but all I feel,
is faded specs, and rolling tears,
of thick silver ink, my lost frontier.
I think all along it had to be,
the way it flows so slow, but solid out of me,
so I bow to the gift,
which brings my sad soul to it’s knees,
sensing a descending shift,
as I am handed the fleece
Woven in all earthen shades
and in humbleness it lays,
in burning hands which shake
already missing beloved colder days
I am to carry it through shields of stone
while it touches the core of everything
millions of years of pressed hollow bone
as out of dying seas we are spiraling
Now deeply mourning, the waters gone
it’s telling me that nothing will be lost
but visible to none
And soon the first frost,
will be in void of diamonds
as the golden autumn
is followed by unearthly silence.
Screaming deep into this broken shell,
my hands drifting apart –
begging the earthen fleece to dispel
this dooming death and wrath
Now drifting into hell, for the fault was mine
so vainly blinded by the gift in haste
I now look straight into the Devine!
– and at the year’s first sparkling flakes
@All content, including Photography, Poetry and all segments of the Script Walking with Scars, by Simone vanHove-Emery 2017@allrightsreserved
