| Poetry |
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Six |
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She was a poet who appeared one day and stayed. She had a flower in her hat that butterflies haloed. An artiste of life who seeks the pure line and high meaning the depths of space you speak to while leaping. She appealed to his sense of irony about taking things too seriously It was just after all, all life And the spirit could transcend. She nearly obliterated herself and learned a need to do it every day Locked in fantasy, She explored the limits of loss She found comfort from the gale raging gently within She became a village idiot a tragedy, all dressed in green She tore off her clothes after she discovered they were covered with shame The riddle was her can you remember when it was fun? This was better than life This game where glory awaited even the loser She became myth... the poet who strolled in one day and laughed at fate. |
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| The .play became too serious. Fun became undone. Their love affair was like that. They began as children. Then again, maybe she won. Or he did and doesn't know what They tried to be good. Even when it hurt, good was their goodness. They were polite and honest as could be. And took to flinging things. They were inspired and even in misery of cold and wet and loneliness their appreciation was something to behold. Only humility tempers a decadent only love brings a wanderer from the desert only reality can bring a man to his knees Were they merely mundane or magnificent? or and as Eliot foretold ...not with a bang but a whimper And do not sadden...it is the journey we treasure and you I love will forever be part of my life's current of alternating memories light years away through parsec upon parsec of mist I held a moment with you |
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| � Maggie Higgins |  |
Dream Weavers |
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