Driftwood

The wind whispers, and the words are rain.

The moon is brushing her silver hair;

and I am cleaved by the joy and pain

that shape my world, my spirit, my air.

I am a gypsy, a mystery,

the moon is brushing her silver hair;

and all the things that are meant to be

will ever be as they will or do.

I am a gypsy, a mystery,

a breath that dissolves into the blue;

and dreams will drift and be on their way,

will ever be as they will or do

until shadows stain and sorrows sway

until sweet promises fade for good,

and dreams will drift and be on their way

forever floating like drift to wood.

The wind whispers, and the words are rain

until sweet promises fade for good

and I am cleaved by the joy and pain.

Author's Note

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you did this style quite well..i like the personification.....joy and pain...opposites, halves of the whole, halves of all of us....

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thanks, Jacob. I was up late working on this one. I feel unsettled about it though, as if it fails to convey all that I wanted. I may have to revisit and use another form to truly convey everything desired.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you convey more than enough to allow us to relate----