nothing ever felt so right
as standing in the spring in my war-torn garden
lukewarm sunsets gently brushing over the hills
a golden light standing,
a dying man's last stand.
the winter was gone,
and nothing ever felt so true,
with the cool breeze brushing my hair from my face
gently, as tender and careful as a lover's hand,
or a father's,
coming home to rest in the grass.
the clouds swung across,
and nothing ever felt so safe,
large lumbering ships passing harmlessly over the valley,
carrying vast stocks of cargo in their watery holds,
carrying the rain,
as a mother carries her child.
no, nothing could ever feel so right,
as the chirping birds singing in a spring sunset
the gentle breeze flying with angel wings over the hills,
carrying the clouds,
as nature loves,
a mother's love, and all is love,
and all is safe in her calmly rocking and turning cradle.
Spring 2018
YOU ARE READING
Unbroken • Poetry
Poetryeven the leaves will not break beneath her touch "All art is quite useless." - Oscar Wilde
