Taught to remain dead from the womb,
she walks among tombs, whitewashed
crypts concealing skeletal remains
of 1,000 generations, closets clammy
and fungal. She bites the apple
of her ancestors which, ever since
Newton wed Granny Smith, dictates
a hard fall. The System says, ‘Stay! Be
at home with Depravity, shake hands
with Despair! Dry bones can but rattle,
dead men can but dance.’ But she feels the
nudge of the Refugee, the rebellion of
soiled skin; when she opens her eyes
to Truth, she finds her mantle is but a
rented chrysalis. When they take the final
tally, her casket will be an empty husk,
with hinges rusted like dry blood, an
apple seed rooted through its temple.
Laughing at Gravity, she will rise
on the wings of the dawn, emancipated.
Excellent. I love this 😉
I do apologise for not visiting as often as I would want to. My time is very limited now.
I sure don’t get around like I used to either – only in fits and starts, and then I am so behind on my reading that I can’t get to everyone and just give up. Not to worry – it’s summer! Take ‘er easy! 🙂
Thanks for understanding Melody
I started off so gung-ho – I suppose it was simply inevitable that I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace at some point. So – yes, I DO understand!!
perennial strength and purpose ~so are we! Wonderful analogy as usual !
Thank you Deb!
I am SO ready, Mel. Well done poem. God bless you BIG.
Your poetry just keeps getting better and better, Melody. I love your line breaks and the depth of this. Thank you!!
Thanks so much, Debbie. I really appreciate that…
You have such a creative & poetic mind in the thoughts that come with your photos!
🙂 Thanks Rosy. It just happens – I can’t help it. What I see helps me to explain how I feel, what I am learning, what I think about life. And then you all come a long for the ride!