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Page: Profile: Poetry
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Poem Specs
VxPoem ID: 3248
Category:
mother_earth
Posted: April 2nd. 2004 1:31:09 AM
Views: 1022 |
Her Call
by LexiAngel
Age Group: Adult
Settled into an oversized chair a young man stares at the blue glare of the television laughing now and again at a joke spurted by one bland character or another. The glaring glow and the weight of his day, moments long since faded and tucked away in one memory or another, pull at his eyes. The brassy sounds of consorting characters give way to a faint tapping on the windowsill. The man turns his clouded stare to the teary-eyed window to watch the droplets dance down the glass. He falls into their melody, into their world, his cheeks strung with their silver bodies, his eyes upon their soul.
There’s a flicker of wings among the tearful stars, a soft echo of golden day amid the velvet night. A song rises and the trees stir to join in the melody. The wind whistles in its languid stroll over the reeds and the ancient lake offers the low croons of bullfrogs floating amongst the budding lilies. The fallen snow touches silence and grieves for its passing into the earth.
The hills, the waters, the winds, the flames all sing out, “Return! Return!” But there is silence to all, save those in tune. The song, though sung so sweetly, goes unheard, the season’s passing unpraised, unmourned, unwelcomed…but nonetheless she wakes. “Remember, ” she whispers to him, to her children before transcending birth. Her breast carved of mountain, her breath born of zephyr, her soul ignited eternal flame, and her womb spilled the ever-changing waters.
He rests in some place where winter melts into spring, and in the sanctity of unfading gloaming, in the softest hold of dreams, all her sweet facets converge before him into a kaleidoscope of color, which in turn spills sweetly, softly, quietly out into the clearing. The colors melt o’r the land breaking the air with sparks of life, wings born of a thousand hues, an intricate tapestry of life. Each wing is ever-shifting, ever-changing as her womb but together they fall, a carpet upon the land.
The brown soil, which weeps of death and decay is compelled to sing of life and beauty. The earth moans with birthing pains as its flesh breaks with peeking buds, each eager to unfold and turn its face to the brilliant light of her soul. The butterflies shatter their stained tapestry to fill the air with restless bodies until at last the clearing teems with beating wings whose sound alone is as soft as a wraith’s breath but together brings thunder across the land.
The beating of a thousand wings wakes the springs and brooks calling them forth, inspiring them to break their icy fetters and flow free once more. The rejoicing of the rivers sets the land to blushing and its doldrums to flight. Like blood through veins, her living spirit winds through the land, the clearing its heart, its source. Spring bleeds across the land, budding ferns breaking through the decay of last year’s bloom. The knotted boughs of the forests grasp at new life with yearning branches until at last it is pulled past the chapped bark to fill the waking trees with her fiery spirit. The ancient trees can do no more to keep it within and the light bursts out of the branches alive in pristine buds. From each bud skip the sparks of her soul until at last the forest air is thick with the blinking lanterns of fireflies.
Their brilliant glare brings tranquility and memories to his heart, the comfort of a warm blanket on a cold day, the peace of temple at dawn, the tenderness felt in the deepest embrace, the purity of a child’s laughter, the excitement of a first kiss. Each wing, each tree, mountain, bush, river, dale, cries, “Remember! Return!” until at last his ears ring with countless voices.
“Honey?” speaks the rain. The television cackles with the sounds of spunky retorts. “Honey?” his wife’s elbow gives him sharp nudge out of rain’s spell. “Did you remember to return the movie?”
“Huh?” he blinks at her blankly.
“Ugh, ” she groans getting to her feet. “You never…” the baby monitor crackles in sharp intrusion, cries straining to reach caring ears. “Will you?”
He stumbles to his feet shuffling into the other room, eyes lost in misty quandary. The baby’s cries fall to soft coos and flailing arms as her father appears stooped overhead. Through outstretched fingers watery eyes whisper up to him, “Remember…return.”
Author's Notes: First draft. Blah.
Author's Location: Manchester, New Hampshire
More Poems: LexiAngel has posted 7 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about LexiAngel - Click HERE
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