THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD
Under the weight of
Human imperfection,
The world is perfect
It keeps spinning – faster in hopes of
Shaking itself free
Of our dreams and wants,
Violent footprints of darkness
Refusal to satisfy
A world where peace has not a
Prayer
Unless as heat
That leaks from the sky
Mournful, fiery tears
Burning in our ignorance
As we race blindly
Beyond the trees
Perfect with rings
Barking our history
Trumpeting our future
LOVE IN SPRING
Urgency is consumed
By beauty
Nature dressing
Slowly leafing
Nether parts
Forcing the urgent
Lover to work
Peeling her petals
For nectar
That which
Keeps the world
On its axis
Even as he is still,
Cradled
In her arms
Face up
Under downy-warm skies
He dreams
Youth tangled in nights
And limbs
Images
Impossible to share
Who will understand
In light of fear?
Consider:
The world is no more
A fearful place
Than before
Rather:
We have grown
More fearful.
Still he dreams
Fearless
Nature laughs
Slipping into something
More comfortable
The mornings after
G. Davis-Feldman 6/1/2014ON BEING TWENTY
Excerpt from At Home in Exile – a novel by Gwen Davis-Feldman © 2001
Night Dreams
Night comes
Easing an orange sun
Over earth’s dreary edge
Cares drown on the horizon
Yet return in the day’s catch
Some slipping through the wide
Knit of net
Forgotten
Others left unsorted
On the pillow
Of dreams
Caste, unremembered
Dismembered chunks
Until the slow insurrection
Of a pink and purple daubed
Day break forces fear
To organize and
We remember
Gwen's World 