Ode to Spring

baby delphinium

 

Tentative stretches

Life stirs in winter’s graveyard

Corpses are reborn

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O Murky Depths

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O murky depths,

you mesmerize;

you pull me places

I despise.

Your vortex calls,

compelling sound –

but if I choose,

I need not drown.

Your siren song

is but a lie,

a quick-fix hoax,

a warring cry.

You seek to drag

me to my grave;

I will not bow,

or be your slave.

The Friday Called Good

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Which of me is real,

and which is the hoax?

Lies parading as truth,

nightmares pretending to be certain,

make down look high

and sky resemble grave.

Just such a grave once swallowed the Truth,

spat on Hope,

beat Justice into submission;

my fists flailed Saviour,

my arrogance gripped hammer.

As Dark grew blacker still,

Light split its circumference,

and the worst Friday in history

became

Good.