Monday, 30 September 2013

Dry Skin.

This is a poem ( free form) that I wrote while just reflecting in peace in a park at twilight.

It's the dry, falling skin from the body, after a season of cold, harsh air.
It's the cracks that age her youthful fingers.
It's the bitter winter that wore her down,

into the rocky ground.
It's the piercing winds that held her captive from the warmth...

The changing hue in the trees,
Bring hope in learning how breathe, again.

Will the breath be anew?

From seasons past,
The bruises and scars,
Left the immovable marks.
Will the captive be free,
Will the flower rise from dust,
Will the streams be filled once more?

To see her hands, soft and tender,
Once again. 

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