Burnt Offering

Storm clouds gallop over dark hills;

An eagle hangs suspended in the sky:

Such images of unexplained significance

Can turn a man into a sentimental prophet.

As a child, I climbed a ladder in a dream

Till I reached heaven, but it was not yet my time.

“Not before you finish the last drop of the bitter cup

That is yours to taste,” they’d say.

Like a tree, I’m rooted in the ground,

Stretching my limbs toward the sky.

I weathered storms, drought, heat, and hail,

Bore fruits, some good and sweet,

Some bitter, and rotten to the core

That grew in hard times of famine and war.

Seasons green, red, and black

I have seen.

A devotee of pretty songbirds and their melodies

I have been.

When it’s time, I’ll let go of the last yellow leaves,

And welcome the flames that free my soul

From a heap of smoldering charcoal.

 

Reviews

[Temperance]

Another beautiful work of art. Metaphors and imagery are wonderful. We can learn so much from nature and get so much out
of her as you have shown. It was a very nice read for me. Temp

[Laz K.]

Thank you for reading and commenting.