Such wayward children were Peace and Love that their mother, Charity, put them to bed supper less every night for many years. But Charity, you see, had been microchipped by Reverend Serpent Woman, who made the ground holy where she walked and planned to destroy Charity and her children. For she believed them enemies of the true Christian state, and thus, abominations. However, Reverend Serpent Woman needed money and appealed to viewers’ righteousness, using the 1-800-LET-EM-STARVE campaign.
I started to write this one when I first saw this photo on Facebook. I did some research to find the true name of the mountain and then wrote down a few lines. Then I saw Eugenia’s weekly prompt was “fairy” and things took off from there.
UPDATE– However, the fact checkers did not have all the facts when I checked, and it seems I was duped. Fact checkers I used (and I used several) only had the name of the mountain as being incorrect, and they all agreed that this was a drone image. However, it seems they have been updated and the image is really the digital work of an artist named Jean-Michel Bihorel. Thank you to Susi Blocks who brought this to my attention. I may remove the post entirely but I will take a minute to think about that.
Wind and rain Of this horrid spring Whips us to perfection Of brokenness being Beaten souls That we are In this time of need And want of touch. Our loneness sheltered Bodies, our silence shattered souls, Contoured colors of minds Restrained our madness In this once upon a time. If only to wake in the warmth Of human skin upon skin Once again in some perfumed swirl Contained in believing a speck of faith Preserved as a fly in amber. That fly who found rest In warm liquid ooze But was never to escape. Yes, grateful to escape to This fitful rest though, yes, It is, indeed, blessed. My mind scatters, Struggles to find a train of thought To ride in peace from one station To the next, make a trip to the elegance Of a dining car, white glove service And all else– in contrast— To this vast emptiness— With which to wrestle like Jacob, But my soul has long been crippled. All the trains left the station, Ran circles around my heart, Chugging on into the tunnels To find there isn’t much In expectation on the other side Of those darkened tunnels. No light, no light, Just a cold grey Of a horrid spring.
I walk my dog by the children at play. I must stop to admire a small girl upon the swings, Kicking her feet straight out and leaning her body back, A challenge to the dimensions of air, A brave heart to dare push her feet against the height of the sky.
Yes, this girl, smiling in the joy of her challenge and dares, Will carry her brave heart into her youth, And, I hope for her, she will carry it to her grave, Dying with the bravest of hearts. Unlike me, who carries a heart tucked away Inside this lidded vase kept upon a shelf.
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