I
She runs like the river after the April rains,
Over flowing. Ever ebbing. Pushing, pushing,
through the wet, leaching mud; with each step,
It sucks saturated (in) sanity (in), leaving her with
Nothing. For naught.
She sobs like the storm clouds,
Loudly. Never ending. Rocking, rocking,
in the wash of the open faced, omniscient moon; with each tear,
it magnifies her (un) placed (un) heavenly beauty, reminding the God of
Eternity. For only a moment.
She breathed fire, like the sun,
Through all known time. Continuous, yet
transitory, but never fearing what was to come, or
Longing for what was; with each breath,
she gained peace with interconnectivity, with self, giving her
Freedom.
II
She grasped at the limelight;
Climbing, clawing, clutching, cloistering nothing,
But giving up all that kept her “self,” from running away from itself.
* * * * *
She inhaled the promises;
Swearing, sweating, swilling, sweltering sex,
And justification wore many pretty masks.
* * * * *
She arose, awakened;
Without shame, fear, regret, or attachment,
She walked with surety,
Having shed those emperor’s clothes.
Watt Childress says
Reading these beautiful poems recalled one of my all-time favorite songs — “She” by Holly Near (with John McCutcheon on banjo). Searching for that song led me to this link. The drumming is amazing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oda_T-eYcxc
I’m also grateful for your poetry as a work of art unto itself, in need of no comparisons.