I Shall But Wait
The murmur of winds urges me
to ride past new moon’s seasons …
it’s not joy I shall feed on; no, perhaps
a more raw wildfire: a glaze bursting in the dark
or morn of life as is; this craving to sow my girlish
harvest with a nectar of mindful knowing, of aging;
sweet-sour yet somewhat delectable...
Then to gather new seeds, wait for grass and toil
in fireglow over hills and oceans, clutching all
the epiphanies that shall hold me together.
Brian Strand Premiere Contest 130
Re- posted 2/25/2018
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment