My heart is a storm among an April spring.
Bringing about new blossoms as my
roots draw further in. Some parts of me
have died moving on like white handkerchiefs
of goodbye as I travel the clouds taken by
each gust of wind and shaking death’s
hand once again. A numberless
flower I am, among many of the wind beaten
above so high. All our loving silences ignored
as we spread our seeds repeatedly as
each season begins. Resounding among
the trees, our orchestra a divine language
full of old war scars and songs. Faster as the
wind carries the litter we leave to be used
again against our own will deflecting
the pulse of the arrows of the birds flying in.
And the shore at our feet cries a water
spout of hope to stop what will become
a leaning fire from the lightning above
before our days finally end.
Art by jdr