Doves sing, the air drifts in a space to fill with contentment, sorrow, reminiscence.
I have forgotten what it means to feel what is real.
Bark scraping against palms, soil rough underfoot. Sunlight warm on my skin, whispering leaves and dappled shadows.
A song born from the earth voiced into serenity.
But my voice has choked.
In its place songs that ensnare my soul reel and wail my lament.
A silent scream void of depth and the nude grandeur of a moment here.
Let the Earth roll slowly by, the garden promise its solace.
I will stare with empty eyes at the sky and be.
JE LEEST
Disillusioned: Poetry Collection
PoetryA smattering of my poetry, old and new. Be warned, they're dark, raw, real, emotional, spiritual, biased, prejudiced, horrid, and most of all disillusioned. Enter if you dare. Copyright © 2014 by Joy Cronjé All rights reserved. No part of this book...
