Mourning rounds

From the opposite side, I watched the murder

some might say suicide.

It seemed though to be racing and there was never an attempt to waver.

Indecisive the victim scrambled left -right

then frozen in fear –crushed by the weight

a heart stopped.

A morning death always makes me cry.

cbwpc-animals-11.jpg

Photo courtesy of Sue (Mac’s Girl)

Gasp

img_1174.jpg

the wounding is the same

self inflicted in moments perceived through lenses lost in time

birthing shame

eternal scenes rehearsed to protect a shattered soul from love scorned

beholding fear

so taught by mothers and mother’s mothers until each is carried

beyond this

gasping

 

Image courtesy of “Franziska/ Whataboutawaterbottle”

Hug

IMG_0490.jpg

The mountains hug forgotten ones

Souls known in gestures centuries old.

Wonderfully wild and high enough

where clouds can wet their tears and soften edges

All in breathless upward climb in rhythm find

a peaceful soul

and a memory, union sweet.

Then falling down in gasps of fear darker turns and twists

My footing gone

the mountain moves

in outward reach

– embrace.