We spun ourselves
into this silken silence
of self-absorption,
entangled
in cocoons of quiet,
chaotic darkness -
cut off from the world
and the lost memories
of wings.
They remain hidden
in raw, tender cracks
and quivering chasms
of our scarred,
scared,
sacred hearts,
fluttering wildly,
secrets waiting
for release
as rain
from gathered cloudbanks,
for breath of wind
to guide us,
lift us up
from shivering soil
into dusky sky.
Stained glass turns liquid,
roiling and boiling across the horizon,
harvesting hope's healing,
hovering
while we dream
of the inevitable dance...




I gotta admit &/or confess somethin' to ya, Scribe. Other people have also referred to my "slant rhyme & inner rhyme" in other poems, as well...Honestly ~ I don't see it/feel it/know how I do it, even if it IS in there. Must be the Muse dabblin' with my pen again...'cause I ain't clever. Nope. Not me. I'm ...
... blonde.


& burnt cookies, darlin' girl??? 



















Maureen 



80 old applause
