he climbed from the pit
and rested against his staff
gently brushing the dirt away
he seemed lost for a moment
not in thought
but in some other place
a place with locks
a place after
then he looked at the words
written on the parchment
they glowed in the light
from the moon
pulling items from his pockets
he began placing them
the pit filled
with stones
from three different
mountain peaks
powders of oak bark
and blackberry skins
locks of hair
from the living
and the dead
the calls of thrushes
caught by magic
in bamboo flutes
and last
drifting down
like blue snow
petals of hydrangeas
/ / /
This poem was written to wordle 102 at The Sunday Whirl, and is for day twelve of the Poem-a-Day Challenge/NaPoWriMo.
Beautiful and emotional. Wonderful piece.
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Stunning. Richard, I will read this again and again.
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So many lovely images, but Richard, that last one… This is a wonderful poem to read aloud.
margo
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