For Sunday Whirl poetry prompt: Wordle 15
Fortress pierced by unholy vision,
voices from past come to rattle
years of carefully constructed comfort.
Fear pierces being like jagged glass
splinters, arrows hurtled across
deep moat of forgetting.
Tells herself that image is no more
than stray weed daring to sprout
in well-tended garden. Meant
to be plucked, thrust away on compost
heap, to swiftly dry and shrivel.
But, jangled nerves tangle, refuse
order to move, and stillness prevails
as walls of denial tumble, crumble
Elizabeth Crawford 7/31/11
Process Notes: Again, the words seemed to choose partners of their own accord, and I followed the path of least resistance. Was not really aware, until I finished, that this piece definitely seems to echo, or move from last week’s Revelation, thus the title.