On a warm summer morning,
children running, playing.
A large tree; tall, strong, and
majestic.
Uppermost branches swaying in the
air currents high above the
world far below.
Two children climb the Forest Queen,
eager to reach the heights she offers them.
A slip.
A fall.
A scream.
Pain shooting through the boy,
a spear of wood embedded in
his side.
Shot through the ribs, unable
to think, gasping for breath.
“It hurts,” he cries.
Then he closes his eyes and waits.

Help arrives and gently lifts the boy of the spear
piercing him.
Comforts him.
Cradles him.
There is no blood.  The spear is stopping the flow.
The boy’s mother performs the surgery of
removing the spike that remains within him.
Again, the boy cries out, and closes his eyes,
and waits for the pain to end.
He carried the reminder of the
Fall from Grace for many years.
Yet, he still admires the Majesty of the Forest Queen.
He still loves nature.
He will always remember.

charcoal grey, midnight black
all around me
no light getting in,
no love getting out.
blue-white, ice cold.
no warmth to be found.
anywhere.
darkness my only friend.
my life.

Peacock brilliance, rainbow hued
now fills my days.
The sun shines
with a sparkling incandescence.
The warmth of a thousand candles
lights my way in the dark.
Your love is my guide, my map,
my existence.
Iridescence in the night.
My life.
My love.