Trodden, verdant shafts beneath her soles
Bled cool and damp and flattened here once more,
Ritual oft-repeated, silenced but unfold-
ing her dismay, despair and wounded core.
It reached within, like sword in days of yore,
To twist and grind the sorrow hidden well,
This morn, compelled to surface, rush to shore
Inevitable sea wave’s ebb and swell.
Her faltering steps before the scarlet shell
of petals dipping low from overhead vines
Guided toward the path ahead, (a sign from hell
or heaven?) as her salty tears combine.
The moment of her wakening was nigh,
Enjoining dew drops, she began to cry.
Photo Friday: Macro