Rambling on and on and on
She awakens to the sound of wind and rainBeating its staccato rhythm, she feels that at times
That the musicality is perhaps a little too forced,
Too many tempo changes, she longs to take a baton,
beat a solid tune and ask the trees to chorus,
the rain just an audience, wildly cheering
and stamping its feet, when the crescendo winds
Have died down, their appreciation in keeping
With the racing beat of exhilaration that flows
On this early, pre-dawn autumn morning.
She is smooth on the floorboards, knows which creak
In the sinew of her home, she steps, ties herself, glides,
Walking between the runners on the circular stairs
Until reaching the cold stone tiles that play at lions and bears,
Already she has traversed the inner step of dreams
To walk into the kitchen where the warmth of the stove
Lulls her far more than the earlier lullaby of autumn storm.
She sets and lights the candles by a switch, measures beans
And grinds, each handle turned, pressing pleasure that
Will be brewed into mugs, some of which she won't consume.
Morning voices on the radio, inane prattle,
All the tasteless tittle tattle of doom, financial, evil
This old world she thinks, it will not change,
We just know more in this now village of cyber news.
Nothing is sacred or private, pointless celebrities
Spewing out for extra space on glossies then moaning afterward.
She thanks some kind of deity that she is just mere mortal.
Opening up the doors she stands just beneath the awning
That drips and waves to the approaching morn.
Beyond the lawn which is now sodden with leaves,
She hears the sound of serpents twisting, once a slow trickle
It gushes, tumbling over the once dry stones, churning
The ground, the wild cress still struggling to retain a footing.
She must make curves in her spine today and
Lift the curling leaves and smooth away their tears.
She will eat and laugh and in some measure cry,
Remember her dawn, the one where she is all and more,
Not the dying ember at the end of a day
Where her steps no longer glide and her hair
Escapes precision and falls unruly to choke her in sleep.
Poetry by Elle
Read 856 times
Written on 2015-12-26 at 19:33
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