Overhead the sunlight glitters through playful pines.
The crystalline is formed by the emergence of patterns. Whispers bloom from this emergence.
Answers seek refuge away from the light. Unison emerges from the default.
Thoughts cautiously tumbling into depths define my attempts to grapple with the idea of self destruction. Many of us face such a challenge while remaining misunderstood. Why? If only I knew - if only I had such a mature vision.
Originally meant to be an essay, this piece encompasses a turning point in my writing. Life exists in cycles, but what is to be expected within each new cycle? We have hopes for the future, but never quite know what to expect of it. That, I suppose, is the spider’s wisdom.
An earlier poem of mine, I spoke about a personally significant metaphor - the machine. During this time, I made a clear distinction between qualities of creativity and its antithesis, the machine. Disgusted with my entrapment in the machine, I excuse myself as but “a vile of poison.”
A poem of more sentimental nature, I speak about a lone harpist and her song. This poem was featured in the January 2004 issue of HARPA Magazine. Many thanks to Liliana Osses Adams for the recognition!
Heavily influenced upon my Mother’s work, I speak about the moon not as an old friend, but the gatekeeper of nightfall - hidng beneath the shadow - a metaphor for blindness or ignorance. I am not sure if I understood what I accomplished with this early poem.