• Marcel Wormsley

She Arrived Bearing Leaflets


She arrived bearing leaflets gathered hastily from a tree that once made its home along the bluff that bowed in the direction of All Saint’s Creek,

Where the flightless seraphs would traverse from time to time to retrace the melody that escaped somewhere between celestial monuments immemorial

And the hallowed confluence of electric mists and vernal shadows that marked the beginning and the end of a journey’s refrain, just beyond the bend.

One leaf was given to a man of great wisdom who preferred the wistful caress of remote breezes emanating from solitude sweetened with age and fortified with crystalline shells of Faith.

Another was given to the golden-haired urchin who painted the meadows with colors birthed out of fond remembrances of tender passages from lullabies that dared to trace their lineage back to Blue.

Several more were given to the animals that dutifully roamed the forgotten stretch of the forest in which visions of sunrise trickled down like nervous rain on its journey beneath the surface.

The last leaf was given to me as I wondered into the chestnut stream that flowed from her eyes. I held it to my heart and promised her that I would awaken each morning hereafter

Bearing lavender periwinkles for her silken hair extending in every direction, culminating into tightly-woven star steps leading back to the beginning of the Creek where there were dreams of flight, patient and graceful.

I promised her that when the leaf crumbles, my heart will divide the pieces among every meandering soul in search of her lament, and legions of despondent youth will arise and build spatial arias from her maiden cry.

And the galaxies will awaken, changing form with each resolution, presaging the moment when each star will descend upon the horizon and illuminate the spot where the leaflets once graced her outstretched hand.

I sit and mark the journey of lost stars that find their way down the bluff and into my bosom, where I inscribe her smile on them, and turn them into wings that glow in the dark for the angels who plant trees at night.

Art by Matt Wisniewski

#writing #art #Love #LovePoem #creativewriting #poetry #poem #Poet

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