The infant wants milk, love, a lap, a lock
of your hair, the glitter from the lake,
even the moon. The child wants
a friend, a fort, time to play. The youth seeks
to divide and conquer, climb, achieve, win,
subjugate, wills to power and overpower,
even to exert the power
and influence to reject and scorn.
But then one day, whether by choice or force,
the adult releases, accepts, empowers
Let my bones be a bridge, my hair
the buttresses in a nest, my dreams
wings for the creatures that fly.
Let my words be the ripples
that resonate in the pond
and then, more thinly, more
obliquely, in the air,
though I have no breath.
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Thank you Tammy. I usually copy your poems and this time the words and lines separated strangely. Its, OK. I can read and enjoy it thus. I dont quite know how to use the Microsoft word knockoff I got for nothing !
Joanne Gray (505 450-9934) Quote of the month: Blessed is he who is not offended that no man receives what he deserves but vastly more. Blessed is he who gets that joke, who sees that miracle. —Frederick Buechner in Telling the Truth.
And all will be well…and every kind of thing will be well. –Julian of Norwich