never thus

…and gone is the time
when I was nothing more than mine
to have and hold
for there is no price
in what is nigh
high up on clouds
fluffed in quartets, symphonies
numbered nine

*

On crested hills
laughter spills
slowly into the warmth
that holds and keeps
out
a darkness that is not night.

It seeps, warmly
past hardened walls
turns all ice into joy,
waiting, hoping
blushing young, untouched
so coy
resting in that hardened shell
all spikes and swords
all banners flying
stepping aside to let this,
a miracle,
come and sit by the fire
kindled brightly, lively
inside.

*

And in the soft sun
caught with silk and sight
there lies waiting
a smile
open, wide
in shining gladness like newborn light
where what was lost
was never thus
but hidden, hiding
until a look, a light
enabled that tender newborn:
a joyful, content life.

© 2014 threegoodwords