Ars Poetica: An Inner Light

THE WOMEN gather under the trees.

They bring gifts, food, and chairs.

They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,

Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.

And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.

Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,

shifting aside their robes to expose

missing limbs and gaping wounds.

The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,

eyes straining, and they chant,

"That is lovely, that is good,"

and the wounds stop weeping,

and they melt into scars,

silvery and light and beautiful.

Then the women lean back and laugh,

and they stretch, sensual and fierce,

like cats in the sun.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Is there an inner light inside of me?

I wish I could look inside to see,

Is there, inside, a special glow?

I really, really want to know.

What kind of light might be inside of me?

Will it guide me to the right, provide a key?

Is there, deep inside, an inner glow?

I’d like to know.

Would it shine out of my eyes

so brightly as to light dark skies?

Or, will it warm the secret part

of my lonely, tired heart?

Is there an inner light for all to see

that could be the soul of me?

--Xena