The Maidens
Christie Benson
[tbenson@primenet.com]
The Man
As the moon spins its gossamer light,
I walk among trees sighing life's breath.
I stumble around wet mossy branches,
as the cool air brushes my face.
The long shadowed night,
leaves its drying tears on my aching cheeks.
The trail moves on under an emerald canopy,
sheltering my darkness from truth's heat.
Slowly, I cross a bubbling stream,
slick rocks mocking my unfruitful path.
Blackness lurked on the other side,
waiting one "accidental" misstep.
A breeze touches a sound to my ear.
I stop, the endless night
still eager to make my name.
That haunting note pushes at doubtful possibilities.
I hesitate. Reaching down to my weary self,
I wonder if it is worth the effort to turn back.
My body shivers
with the joyfulness of that lilting note.
Uncertainty warred.
Finally, I grasp stinging edge of hope
and follow that lovely music.
Branches open before me,
like wraiths dissipating in the wind.
My heart shatters.
The Maidens
Young maidens rejoice,
beneath whispering willows,
singing joyful rhythms.
Sweet voices weave the ancient threads,
dusting air with fairies' gold.
Restless feet step in jubilation,
exulting over dewy ground.
Oh, sweet sound to pierce heart's breath,
binding hope and spirit,
the precious setting love.
Time forgotten in the trembling light,
as the dance moves on and on.
The Man
As I watch them dance,
I gather those fragile shards of my heart.
Caught in the sticky web of hope and life,
rebirth dangles before my eyes.
I seize it.
Edging back,
clutching my gift tightly to my breast,
I tear myself from the magic scene.
I will shelter in the hopelessness no more.
© 1998 Christie Benson, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
|
|
|
|
|