Twisted Sculpture
the nest lies empty
except for the lost feathers of flight
acorns, green in growth
wait for the ripening of age
death comes in life
while cocoons, mummified, revel in change
tomorrow brings another Today
leaving only yesterday to lie in wait
for the memories to begin and end
over and over again
in traumatic dreams
senseless
with demented fragments of metal
charred and bent
in the fiery flames of a lifetime of
explosive implosions
heaped and shaped
into a life's artistry of
twisted sculpture
The acorn falls;
the bird soars;
and the woman cries.
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
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Written on 2008-07-30 at 00:39
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