We walk in ever-jagged circles
around the world and Sun,
and around our dreams
and hopes and prayers,
and all the things we've done.
And once ago you said to me,
all things will their time come-
the fears and tears and sealing wax,
the stars, the Moon, the Sun.
The seasons change
the shadows fall
and many good men die,
the river flows
the cold wind blows
and harsh the blackbirds cry.
What words in sand you ever wrote
will someday wash away,
the greatest hearts and truest lives,
will sometimes go astray.
You said to me,
out by the sea
the greatest lighthouse stands,
and the sidewalk ends
and the long road bends,
before
The Woman and the Rocks by darkelvenmage, literature
Literature
The Woman and the Rocks
Once upon a time, there was a woman. The woman lived by the sea in a cottage of dark wood and rippled glass. She lived alone. She had no family.
To keep her company she had the rocks. In jars and baskets and on shelves and every dresser she had the rocks, great stacks and collections of them so that everything else seemed forever buried beneath them. One could never find a place to sit, but she had no one to visit her, so it didn't matter.
Each morning when the dawn was far distant and still growing, gleaming pale pink like wet shells, the woman would take the well worn path down to the beach, down through the shifting dry sand and to where
I Am A Mother
I am a mother who has buried four children.
I am a mother who has buried two sons.
I am a mother who has buried two daughters.
I am a mother who has carried four coffins,
empty of bodies, meaningless save
for memories held within names
of plain white wood, with aching hands
and burning heart
to shallow graves of bitter pain.
I am a mother who has planted four stones
as markers,
as lighthouses,
pathways of hope,
to bring back the children
that scatter the wind.
I am a mother who stands on the moors,
who clutches a lantern
and cries to the sky
bring them back,
bring them back...
I am a mother alone in the nigh