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Laura
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I used to walk inside myself and see,
butterflies with golden wings,
fairies sprouting little whispers of philosophy,
and as my legs grew weak,
my mind grew weary.
I would squat and rest beneath a lavender oak,
and I knew I was in Shangri-La.
Peering over my right shoulder my sight would catch in the moonstone of G-ds eyes.
I knew my way around myself and now I get lost,
the golden butterfly cries of how I should not follow my beaten path, my oak is not there.
the fire of man has ravaged the leaves and even the roots are beyond help.
I can no longer view my Zion,
the wind never speaks to me, I did not protect it once, it cannot trust me again.
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011206
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