a think about total power

a poem. one should recreate a observational poetry option for poems and prose.

Power exists in the mind. Life is powerless reality. Reality is a smile if you let it touch your face.

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The poetry of observation. Write what you see. How you think? What wonders will you share?

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I will share this. . .

 

I sit on the cut stone bench in the graveyard and stare at the marker of a death that was a life. The words in the stone read, Always Loved �" writer. With dates for witness carved into the granite.

The little spider that sits on the grave stone waves at me with one of eight hands.

I raise a finger and it runs down the far side of the stone. I smile at the silly little spider.

To my left is the huge stone angel with spread wings and her hands are cupped to show the world compassion. Her face is a smile and I tilt my head as I meet her eyeless eyes.

I smile to the angel and turn back to watch the little spider run back up to sit on the marker of a life.

I wave a finger at the spider and it slips back behind the grave stone. We are playing peek-a-boo the spider and I. I realize this and look about the cut grass of the cemetery.

To my right is a dead oak tree that promises to fall on other’s stones and crush them as it leans forward. The crow on a tree branch of the dead oak calls out for a love.  He is lonely and wishes to start a family of his own.

I stare at the crow. I turn and look at the little spider and I read the dead writers name and the dates carved into the placed block of stone.

I blink.

The little spider waves a hand. I lift a finger and it hides behind the marker of a life.

I smile and listen to the crow calling for a love to be his own and only and =

I think: Life is beautiful.

The spider lifts a hand to wave at me.