Our poems will wait to speak to us, as we hide ourselves away
confident, in luxury condominiums setting up our safety.
But in our living through the storm,
up on the ridge, with our breath taking us
into the wildness of words, where mustangs
fill our minds, and pine trees
are tossed by the wind,
with blizzards that shake loose
of our hearts,
we become confident
of our survival,
in a place where
our pens run free
and the poetry paints
of our spirits.
I will be posting here once in a while. Thank you for reading!
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies