Pure

Half starved
lying supine
gazing at the iridescent sky
May I partake of nature’s cure?
Give me succour
Make it pure
make it pure

You said we were
just fiddlesticks left out
in mid winter rain
Each part of a struggling monolith
afraid to move
lest we shatter the communion
forevermore
and ever more

All those days later
roses grew defiant
through crystalline bones
and vultures circled
overhead
in case the harvest moon
came too soon

Weep for me
I’m captured in an hourglass
beating futile wings
against the glassy cage
And before all nature’s terrors
I am stricken but endure
All I ask is make it pure
Make it pure

(c) Helen Valentina 2014, All Rights Reserved

About helenvalentina

Like most people, I have a number of sides to me. The most interesting one probably emerges through my writing, hence this blog. I love to read, and also to write, and so this is a way to share both.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Water and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Pure

  1. A mystical and intriguing words.

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