Poor Poet's Scroll

"No sword
Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, [6]
But one poor poet's scroll, and with 'his' word
She shook the world." - Tennyson, 'The Poet'

I may not shake the world, but I do believe in the power of words.


3. Breathe and escape

Craggy and rough-hewn, they soar for miles,

great giants that preside over the booming sea,

pulling with unseen hands the tumbling waves

that crash against their legs.

Eagles harsh cries echo across the skies

as wings outstretched they glide,

the brown outlines defined against azure skies,

miles above tufty brown earth.

A lone figure, dark against the quilted landscape,

stares down at the foaming rage beneath.

Wind tugs and yowls in her hair

ripping way her shawl from her heaving shoulders.

No movement, she just stares

as it dances like a puppet in the wind.

A pearly hand brushes hers.

Heaven is waiting.

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