Poetry

I wrote this...B.R.T. 10*21*2025

"The Phoenix and the Snail"

The earth met my feet, a silent testimony to my retreat. As I made my way through the soft peat. I knew that soon I would greet, those lovely ferns and cool creeks. I am ready for my soul to be complete, with every minute I get to meet, in the forest...

Each step unspools a thread of ache. Woven with hope, for healings sake. I feel the sigh through the cedars and rain, with every forward footfall that I take...

The tree's, recall my childhood claims. With vows of faith, their branches bow, and whisper of my yearning flame...

Let the stars be my compass, and the Thrush, be my guide. And in this green hush, I'll need not to hide...

I’m sitting on the back porch swing, in the early gray morning,

watching a robin fly back and forth across the yard.

She alights on a nearby fence post, ruffles her feathers, and gives me a quick contemptuous look.

Just above me, in the eave of the house, is her nest.

She’s angry with me for interfering with her purpose.

All she knows this gray spring morning is that she has a nest with her young to attend.

In silent battles, bodies bound,

A spirit’s song, profound, unbound.

Eyes that speak where voices fade,

In courage, life’s true serenade.

A caregiver’s touch, gentle and near,

A whisper of hope, a banisher of fear.

I want to be out in the trees, unimpeded by this disease.

Wistfully twirling my drawing pencils, with ease.

Not worrying about my next ALS travesties.

To find a way that I can be alone, face in the breeze.

Have freedom of action, doing what I please.

Until then I will, continue to go headstrong, against this monstrosity.