Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns

In the Woods and Fireplace

In the Woods

No news from the affairs of the world
and no signs of anyone,
but the shimmering silk rays of the sun
threading their way through branches
to witness a million hues…
and marching with the seasons,
bird songs
like markers of time;
so I can still sit
on the same log
-inside my mind-
with forest all around me
thick and green,
to find my place
as a person who lost her way,
shattering words
for the sake of poetry,
to cause a rebellion
among true poets.


Fireplace

Passage of time
with reminiscences
of the bits and pieces of living
flickers
like a fading fire
towards the camera lens
within me,
like a sip of warm tea
for my thirsting soul,
as reflections soldered together
with my clichéd words,
and time stands hand-cuffed,
while I still breathe and blink
at the ashes
in my fireplace.