Columns and alabaster stairs
The crowd emerges to praise the king
A box containing crowning glory
To be worn by only him
Nothing for the woman to adorn
Not even a flower for her hair
How can this be?
Is her worthiness reflected?
Authority and ritual of the norm
All is left are ruins found
Each piece dissolves within her hand
Entropy of the form revealing formless once again
Illusions of others have no power
She creates the life that she has now
Janet,
Another lovely visual journey for me! Thank you!
Beautiful dear Janet – very beautiful.
Beautiful, Janet. I’ve read it a number of times. I interpret this poem as a lack of recognition of the gifts and talents of people who don’t conform to the rules/values/mores of the institutions with power. But these people don’t need recognition from dying institutions, for they create their own life based on an entirely different paradigm. At least that’s how this rebel sees it. :O) ~Amy
Beautiful poetry.
She needs nothing added to be perfect. And each time she tries, it dissolves, because it is unnecessary. And in the end she creates the life she was meant to create. Pure and honest.
(Sounds like my biography.)