The Sting
The sting..
the stream that flows along the path.
The path..
the road that leads to nowhere-somewhere.
Somewhere..
the place where you are, where I long to be.
But still..
still I am without your smile so easy, kind.
Unkind..
the world, with all its absolutes and substitutes.
The bloom..
the thorny rose that grows within my soul.
My soul..
that bleeds before the needs of everyone else.
I need..
to be freed from this bird-cage on wheels.
Wheels..
that turn mercilessly toward the future.
The past..
too fast it flutters behind, the coil unwinds
and I unravel.
Rewind..
repeat, replace the missing pieces with bits of gold.
Gold..
treasure moments flung to the heavens like glitter on
black velvet.
To dream..
perchance to sleep and awaken at the start.
The start..
where all possibility lies, a new path without
the sting..
the caged bird that sings
as the wheels spin endlessly
and reality unwinds in kaleidoscope moments of
brilliance.
Cheryl Kp
copyright words and photo
201
Tropical Affair 
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