Sherry Asbury Poet Prose Poetry

Journey

I have often bent my head
to rest on a pillow, not linen
and feathers, but concrete
and small squalid stones.

Like the breath of
a thousand butterflies,
a little wind has covered
my exposed and tested bones.

My lips have often whispered
in God’s ear, and He has
answered with a bit of stale bread.

Now I sit quietly in corners
listening to the gossip of honeybees,
whose wings are translucent 
in an August sun.

I watch my skin grow thin and fragile
as sheets of onion-skin or the wings of moths.

It has been a journey - harrowing 
and flush with revelation, leaving me
gaping at the wonder of it all.

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Lekau Mamabolo November 23, 2018 at 2:43 AM A beautiful to read, I enjoyed it, well done

Caren Krutsinger November 22, 2018 at 7:18 AM Every ounce of this poem resonated in my soul-mind, so I FAVed it. I wish I could explain what in particular caught me up and held me in its arms and intrigued me, but it was the wholeness, the essence, and the beauty of it. Write on, Poet Sherry. You are doing God's work.