drawing on senses that be
Could a lesson be learned in the dankest of air,
while the stars make a beckoning sea
Too open and gracious, the grounds of the land,
this transgression of fortified lives
Cawing rooks fly taking secrets with them,
past the pond where illusiveness thrives
Yet, each day, a scene from the battered armchair,
or in echoes of velvet and lights
Same old story with similar ending,
to finish off her and her knights
The pool, with it's crystal reflection,
absorbs sorrow to give it a boost
A triple nod ripple, then swirling -
and a petal-spread vortex induced
But she won't grab the hand she is offered,
nor look herself straight in the eye
Clarity often takes strength to permit,
what you can't see in front of your eyes.
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