Flowers and Arrows
Multicolored hands dissolved the pain, that rose within me
You were there; certain you'd win your part in the ring
Condescension became sparks I used as light to see
I held to my song you sought to silence, by your sting
Once again, your buzz faded and you fell flat
Hold firm the religious reins of your horse, I say
I offered flowers; you strutted, and then turn back
I gave you your day, with garland and songs unforced
Self-made pedestal holds no sap like earth's wood
You may think me soft as gel, nay! I am mahogany!
Papa was carver of antiques from those trees, you understood...
His hands were guided by the Source, the root of my recovery.
*
Copyright © Iris E. Sankey- Lewis | Year Posted 2014
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