Fragile is the breath of heaven,
voices float upon the winds,
angels feeding our hearts with
words to quench our thirst.
Earth in its glory, flowers created
from God’s pallet of colors, inhale
their fragrance, yes that is God.
As one drink’s from the chalice of
depression, loneliness, and
heartbreak the spirit rides a vessel
of deathless wrath; drained is the
energy of the living body.
Disparaged thoughts fill the blank
page, the poet a slave to doubt,
sentenced to wander forever through
waking or dreaming hours with a feeble
hand moving slowly across vast nothingness.
Thoughts hide in the shadows, frailness
lingers as golden beams of creations falls
into darkness; from sea to mountain top,
bravery gone, and grace and genius meld
Will there be a sunrise, will imagination and
creativity bloom in the light of desire; or will
imagery sleep in silence waiting for the
reminiscence of the creative words to return
giving hope and a new beginning.