Does a gnome in the garden
keep fishing at night...
Do not weep when I am gone,
It is not chance but mine own choice...
Yearning for the artists hand
they lie fallow and incomplete...
To the victor the spoils.
Is that truly the case...
Suspended here up high
amid the fickle cobwebs...
Drowsy water hangs suspended,
Reluctant to fall...
Innocence of form
belies the cimmerian shades...
Fragile petals blown by turbulent winds
to swirl in eddies far from leaf and stem...
It is undeniable.
This pain you have created...
Forests weep as blazing branches distort and...
Reaching out as if to tear the rain from cloud...
At last awaken senses
dulled by subjugation...
Silence covers all with bold embrace
Her hands and fingers dance with lissom grace...