Of the Tiniest Feather …

She spins,

Will not

Point at rainbows;

Her balance

Dances

With shadows

In the stillness:

Concentration

Be complete;

Breathe shallow

But well.

The weight

Of the tiniest feather

Was always

The key.

 

One for Sorrow.

Was my salute really so poor

That the black-and-white

Felt able to betray me so,

So completely?

Seven flights of seven steps

To bow, trembling,

Before my judgement god.

The desert lords,

Who own the water,

Will have the final word;

Name me

Legend

Or

Villain

A title that will

March with me

Into eternity.

(Jerash, Jordan)

14/10/2012