Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Be Still My Soul


 Exile is a clearing
in a foreign forest.

Find it down the stony path
from your door,
past the familiar
into the dark green trees.

Thick moss leads the way
followed by deep silence.

Suddenly a coyote calls
from the distant clearing,
laughter,
and its echo,
anguished despair.

For you,
exile was the only good,
blossoming the soul,

though severed,
a brief flower
on a rootless stem.

Brief,
like the Rose of Sharon.
 
 
  
 
 
 

3 comments:

  1. thank-you for all your kind comments, Leslie! :-)

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  2. I really like sharing this way, as I can think about each poem when I become quiet and willing to think!

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