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  Wings of Light
99505 Poems Read
Deadly and Merciful Blue
I have a story,
but it doesn't matter now,
with each wave a saga,
a lifetime—
every death a birth,
and
just being here is speaking.
Gulls catch my crumbs
in midair and
become extensions of wind
and light,
an upheaval of light,
separate lights,
then one Being,
pulling and releasing
and taking me far from
the rattling hymns of betrayal,
lead wings, pastel bullets
and gift-wrapped pain
you have to open eventually,
just not while the wild sea
disbelieves time
and helps me understand
time is some cruel myth
we concocted,
minute by minute,
to keep us tame.
The sea labors for the Earth,
heaves and plunders,
bleeds and resurrects.
I hope this is how I end,
being deconstructed this way
in blue and benevolent furor,
hopefully something familiar
back at the birth
of our tiny speck of chaos.
Genesis replayed. The End of Days
charging in, then weeping at my feet.
And I won't care if no one remembers.
I was light playing the role
of a human for a while.
And it was perfect.
Patricia Joan Jones
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©2000 - 2002 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.
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