Wednesday, October 7, 2015


image from google dot com

All my tears are sieved
Returning like cornmeal
To a desert bowl
To a wasteland, where sorrows grow
Prickly sharp, in cactus folds
Awaiting, yet another crush
To pour itself, into agave cups
There to dreaded stupor, all may drink
For I am no more than this
Than ambrosia to wanton paths
Cold the winds
And hot the sands
Dualy now, the phantoms sing
For now, belly buttons
Morphed into Gods, random
In the night, will carry their whims
Ah, but I, I lift up my eyes
To an unseen command whose word
Resides in the phrases of a poem
Ripped from that space in aged sentence
Sung, in the heart's deep yearning
Learned, from the source of light so
ON LEARNING © gillena cox 2015

Written for Susan's prompt
Midweek Motif ~ Teacher, One Who Teaches


Written for the prompt by Abhra
What is your gift at