The Scarlet Thread Anthology: Winds of Change

My fingers whisper as I caress

the dream-swept balustrade;

Tacit sorrow that melts like

The mountains in molten sunlight.

A porcelain vase lingers too

Close to the edge.

Now a beautiful phantasm in

My mind, you lingered here, too,

But still my heart can find no quietude

In a soul that rages with melancholy and sorrow.

A simple dish places me in a time where

The world shined brighter, when a woman

Would hold her beloved child in her breast,

And rock me into the arms of a dreamy darkness

With the words of a

Quiet and tender lullaby.

But as the winds of change passed through,

The vase fell from it’s nest, and the world imploded

Into a cosmic pining for a motherly hand to wipe away the tears.

I long ago began to assemble these pieces,

Though I know, the vase will never be so perfect,

The porcelain so true,

The hand of Morpheus shall guide you.

By Peter Wysocki

Photo via (cc) Flickr user jbelluch (Jake Bellucci)

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