my Way Home
Eyes stuck open - of angel in the mud -
Skies cry soundless pelicans in flight
Panicked Santa Ana winds shake tips of entangled feathers
An ambulance ignores this stop rushing for a human
Heaven in distress aches bloody, distorted sunsets
The child in me is missing her winged guardian
Vulnerable darkness falls on the grieving beach
Levers smooth reality.
One can't even tell apart purity from mud
I build white castles and move in
So tides would come and take me to Atlantis
They say it is a weightless city,
where crippled hearts totally recover
and anemones teach you how to bloom
when oxygen of soul is scarce
...and one becomes a legend in the storms...
www.scripca.com
Copyright © Iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010
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