angels; minuscule pinpoints of light, shining dim, shining bright,
their light permeating the through the night, a darkened
sky, filling a void, an empty
space,
a loved one had left whilst reaching for unheard heights in search
if one perceives one’s loved one’s falling star, praying to lie beneath the covering within the
darkened
sky.
Is one to have prayed whilst longing to capture one they had lost
out of the many, they may
have.
What has become of a memory clinging to a tear, their loved one
has wept within the long years gone by. And to have heard
only their silence.
I pray they have remembered the words their loved ones once
spoke of. Childhood dreams were many of these.
Moments lost within the pages
of a book
or within the pages, a loved one had written within the long years
gone by.
Was I to inquire about her invisibility,
her rite of passage to
remain
unseen throughout the various stages of her life. From the very
beginning; with her birth until her
death.
Choosing to become a rather elusive one, fully aware of reprisal,
her words and misdeeds and those of her peers,
driving her further into the dark
unknown.
A place rarely found and rarely visited, stepping precariously
into the shadow realm whilst clinging onto a solitary
tear wept by her mother
twice
removed, not by choice, but by
circumstance,
referring
to her insurrection, and those who were complicit in her demise
as she regressed deeper into her incivility.
define her; perhaps a deity or a goddess,
one worthy of receiving recognition
without petition…
Is one to pray to her
on bent
knee?
And those who would not, would they be considered
insolent, and in need of punishment.
was once one of the chosen few, welding her power which surged
through her veins, defined as a tyrannical tyrant, staying
away those who have grown
to fear her,
and
the vengeance she may wreak. ” If only they would forgive me.”
Oft-times she heard herself whispering, wanting not
to be a creature so
vile.
she portrayed herself to be as she gazed upon her mirrored image.
An appearance conjured within a layer of reflected glass.
One, she hoped and prayed she had
imprisoned.
She, speaking of the image mentioned,
one she had not given
a name.
Was it to have been
Is that easy?
it to take a pen to paper, absolving oneself of the misery and pain
others had long endured by her own hand. Was she to
presume she would be
welcomed
onto their land and into their homes, if she were to give all that
she had taken from them. Was she to think twice about it,
her presumed generosity?
About James Sterling
James began writing at 13, and he has published about 12500 pages of poetry on Facebook! He retired from work at the age of 62.
James is proud to share that he never edits what he has written, which is the beauty of his writing!!
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