Lucid

 

If she could think herself sane

She would follow god maps

To clean, tempered planes

Even-keeled, deepening rests.

 

She’d soften her mind

On grass-fed rains

Her feet pressed

In long settled earth.

 

Maybe there is a way.

 

Sometimes the paint

Clings to her skin

Long after the brush

Pushes in.

 

Perhaps she drenched herself

There in the flecks

Where she can be colors

And rays.

 

And you wonder how

She imagined.

How she swept through

The taut pain.

 

If she could breath out

Through the frame

She would sing

And you would believe

She was sane.

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

 

 

Image

 

 

photo credit: deflam via photopin cc

 

Advertisements

Freedom

What were their words

When they left the king?

 

Life

Liberty

Happiness pursuits

 

Sometimes we forget

This intention

Of light

 

I know they forgot

Half the nation

At least

But insert yourself

Into the Meaning

 

You deserve

Freedom

Equality

Rights

 

Your crown is yourself

Now be free

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

 

Image

photo credit: fiddle oak via photopin cc