Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I dreamed of words
bound in white kerchiefs,
signs waving in the shadowed valley of death.

By the time I had awakened
only my breath remained,
I do not know what words to choose
though a river or reconciliation flows
through sunlit dreams.
I cannot pluck harmonies
from the air to give to those who choose
to be right and call God to their side.
Do crop circles lie in crossing patterns? Does Stonehenge
offer a circle that proves stones speak?
I can not wipe hunger from the faces of children
and feed the race mind with the bounty of earth.

Who understands these things of war, these weapons
that can not spare a moment of self-reflection?
Death is the final act of living, and flowers never commit
suicide. They grow in the most unlikely of places.


http://www.flickr.com/photos/allthingsm ... /lightbox/

Impressive poem.

you paint a mindscape with pertinent questions that challenge the conventions of believing in god ....but also believing in man with his penchant for destruction....enjoyed the photos.......I didn't go through the whole folder, but nice slices of americana......the fireworks pics are pretty cool.....man's attempt perhaps at recreating flowers in the sky.........

I think it is stunning this piece....really lovely Anna.

Thank you all for reading and commenting. Would one be a poet if one were not read?

It is a very impressive piece...
Has a lot of depth in content...nice work...Kailashana