by J.F. Pringle
Silken robe passes over supple breast,
And gracefully falls to endless pit.
Virgin made new as ecstasies unfold.
Like garment never to be worn the same,
So, visage fell from innocence grown cold.
Flynt paths score soft feet,
The way made red with heart’s bleeding wounds.
Pain, now, on which to reflect; memories that vary.
Nursery stories of love’s merits,
Are macabre tales; a burden to carry.
Tempting is the balm of new love.
To take a chance; perhaps a different outcome.
This the plight of those whose minds are lost.
Sun rises just the same.
The way all things remain, so the repeating tale of chance’s cost.
When will lesson be learned?
Will fledgling sent a’flight cease to fall?
Oh that the price be covered and not “all”.
The walk, a crawl.
New birth, perhaps stillborn.
From dark to light, to dark again.
But birth brings hope; and hope, renewed fight.
From flaccid apnea, comes breath of life.
Breath in, breath out.
A Hand familiar seeks to guide,
Hesitance is a blockade.
The benevolent ally—before, my enemy.
Hard paths once trodden beckon again.
Not so blind faith to venture towards pain.
Regal monument, so splendid and heroic.
Old Faith stands glorious, strong, yet lifeless.
Does vision deceive? Squinting heart strains to see.
Again, a glance with opened mind.
A glimmer of movement perhaps; renewed faith in kind.
Pathway arrayed with swift statues of sentinels,
Trials that strike by day or night alike.
Broken teeth serve the memory well.
Regardless of hazards, the journey is forward.
Each step is deliberate, but in faith’s accord.