Ripple - poemSubmitted by The Pen on Wed, 09/18/2013 - 17:45
You sense the utter peace in the weariness, of
subtle outward falling lines
over the bellies of silken-shored stones,
the sensation such when both ears are water plugged,
as the pulse of the heart is heavy,
the heart of Gaia drums deep,
even to the core of stones on barren shores...
distant stridulation from the cicada -
rye funneling up crab grasses,
resounding with chime and tap,
below the snap roll of aimless drones...
the wasp is a tumbleweed,
frail as skin of autumn leaves,
a tincture to the winds siphoning it through
to needle-thread glints of ochre and pear spooling,
traces of forgiving scent...
Peace and Love always.