Pilgrimage

I’m in the middle of it
clothes pegs on pictures faded
owls echoing self-reflection
check the twine string’s tension
folds curl on my face
my silver hair above me
my baby toes beneath me
everything nature gave me
I went in and came out differently
all is given until it gets taken
the transition of creation
it comes back to me
when loud forces appear
I start to see clearly
like the black cat I stretch
and I chase –  madness escapes
there are no breaks in place
my lips can’t tell the cells
to renew themselves but see
I may use all my strength for it
again the dimmed past
facing another phase alone
a different version to be
dusk falls on the observant
laced up seasons of living


© Monique (starfish_72)

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Monique's Notebook

Poetry mainly - I play with my creative freedom.

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