[HESTLA'S HONEY]

Blades of grass
taller than I
as I scramble
through life's
twisting vines.

I witness
no signs
of other life.

I see
no semblance
of light.

I hear
no voice's
sound
other than
my own.

As I near
the edge
of this field
of grass,
I envision myself
emerging,
triumphantly,
through.

I reach out
and grasp
a small essence
of who
I once was.

I am ready
to shed
the empty shell
where my soul
resides.

Within, I know
some day,
I will discover
another part of me
to make my soul
complete.


©2003 L. A.