John F. Masare
jfmasare@yahoo.com |
Ripples
Circles grow towards the edges of the pond
Each one in step with the other
Clouds and branches tremble in their wake
I hope I won't disturb them much
With this single breath I take.
Thought turns to stone and shatters stillness here
Radiating movement - apart from a watchful deer
Thought turns to stone and true reflections change
Thought myself alone and now find these selves strange
Actions break defenses, yield consequences
Like the laughing boy, who made a stone a toy
Hoping thus to stir, this tear of nature
Now the place is very still
The birds in the trees will not trill
A sun is setting behind the hill
I found myself strange, now find myself alone
Apart from a watchful deer |
