I wish I could make a tear in time.
Take out my scissors and cut it through.
Go back to a time
when everything is lush and new -
and me an ethereal presence
drifting in the breeze
as it caresses the new born earth
whispering lullabies in the gente wind.
That would be pure paradise.

Instead my very soul is wounded to the core
This majestic paradise
is paradise no more.
The pinnacle of creation
has proved to be a curse.
He has set toxic gas and fumes
Billowing on the breeze
over a barren wretched earth.
A kiss of silent stealthy death.

I'm sure
the Creator of this paradise
sees a parasitic weed invasion,
and has an arsenal of remedies
softly drifting in the breeze
as it caresses the suffering earth
to a new beginning.


by Meryl Angela Duncan

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.