Magician
She magicians the day to arriveAnd here it is.
Using her gift she arranges it.
There are no dull skies to descend today
Brought by taloned wings to strip flesh
From flesh with iron beaks.
She has paused death and the rain-
Her heart doesn't hurt and her hands
Don't tremor and remain her own.
It is her gift this...
She can choose a periodic day to
Disabuse herself from the pain we all know
To walk into the garden of midsummer amongst
The myriad bouquets.
Just for one day she can sit under an azure plucking posies...
The earth warming her toes as she strokes the
Chameleon quite alive.
She knows the day will soon depart
And it will rain tomorrow
Yet when she next enters her room
There will be blossom she can gather and water.
Poetry by jenks
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Written on 2010-02-14 at 23:07
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