by David Martin
A poetic perspective about fairies.
|A flash of light, and swirling vertigo, I am
Thrown into Being,
Innocent eyes closed to darkness’s toil.
I step, behold the crimson yonder,
Feeling the world’s rhythm asunder.
I lightly assuage the trunk,
The empathic embrace that flutters the wind, whose duty
invigorates the spine of the grass.
the moment inspires thirst.
The length of my exuberant locks,
In childish step-step,
Flow from a stature so small that any higher,
I would transgress the ground.
From there, I look up, up
To the mountains, so high they scrape the sky,
Which is itchy,
And laughing so hard it cries,
tears of joy,
since the grass wants to touch too.
I hear the sing-song of rain,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
The trees, they never complain.
It was all Her symphony,
I have heard this song many a time.
I love this song.
The droplets never bother me,
Even though they scream,
Falling to the ground.
I think this is better,
the sky tires from crying.
My gaily dance has to stop.
The rhythm, slowing down
So maybe father Time
Will be nice and allow more play.
While standing out in Being, a little more
I can speak to the rocks,
Since the wind never plays fair.
I forget which trunk it was,
I love them all the same.
The tug is my curfew and I will come back.
I touch the nearest trunk, only to be
Pulled out of Being,
this untoward vertigo, and a flash of light.
The torrential downpour blocks out all sunlight,
Leading with tornadoes and hurricanes,
that smash upon the shores,
Trees that bend in the wind,
after standing tall for hundreds of years;
With blades of grass that lay forevermore.
The wind howls into the darkness,
Since it cannot find its home,
Among the grass.