Her

HER

SHE SAT,
HER ROCK LIKE HEAD,
GROWLED,
SHAKING IN IT'S TURMOIL.
LIGHT FADED IN SOMBRE EYES,
CLOUDED IN MYSTERY,
HIDING PAST ADVENTURES,
LIFE,
IN ALL HER ROCK POOLS,
UNGUARDS THE UNWARY,
AS THEY TRAMPLE,
THE UNTHOUGHT OF.

ONCE A LEADER,
LED ASTRAY,
STRUGGLING,
BETWEEN SHORE AND SEA.
UNNERVED,
AND UNWARY NOW,
FEELING EVERYTHING,
FAIL BEFORE HER.

SHE SMILES AT ME,
FREEING HER FOR A SECOND,
BUT THE CRACKED GREETING,
HOLLOWED,
AND SIMPLISTIC,
CARRIES NO WARMTH.,
ONLY A RECOGNITION,
OF EXISTENCE,
SILENCED IMMEDIATELY,
BY TIMES PAST REMEMBRANCE,
A SEMBLANCE,
OF CONNECTIVITY.

SELECTIVE,
IN HER ACHING MOVEMENT,
HER BODY,
TWISTED IN THE PAIN OF AGE,
YIELDS SOME CLUE,
OF A ONCE HAPPY SOUL,
NOW FLAYING AT THE BOTTOM,
OF HER BURDEN
SHE DRAGS BEHIND HER.

HOW I WISH,
I COULD WARM HER, CALM HER,
SHOW HER AGE IS NO BARRIER,
TO COMPASSION,
THAT SCARS,
CAN BE SOOTHED AWAY,
AND THAT LIFE,
PERSISTENT IN IT'S WAY,
WHILE NEVER TAMED,
CAN BE GUIDED TOWARDS LOVE.

by Barry Conway

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