My Way Home

by: Iolanda Scripca

 

Eyes stuck open - of angel in the mud -

Skies cry soundless pelicans in flight

Panicked Santa Ana winds shake tips of entangled feathers

An ambulance ignores this stop rushing for a human

Heaven in distress aches bloody, distorted sunsets

The child in me is missing her winged guardian

Vulnerable darkness falls on the grieving beach

Levers smooth reality.

One can't even tell apart purity from mud

I build white castles and move in

So tides would come and take me to Atlantis

They say it is a weightless city,

where crippled hearts totally recover

and anemones teach you how to bloom

when oxygen of soul is scarce.

...and one becomes a legend in the storms...