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.
Copyright © Sherry Asbury | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment