Whisper of Leaves


A wise woman once spoke in a darkened room;
My palm resting heavenward in her withered hand.
“Old as Lebanon’s cedars and fresh as willow whips
is the soul housed within that cage of bones.”
Her words weighed portent heavy: storm clouds gathering.
My mind raced lightning strike speed, arriving snails’ pace.
The caged creature of mist and shadow stirred restless.
Deeply rooted and branching out; muttered softly in darkness.
Walked the woods with eggshell steps till a mirror appeared:
Lightning scorched and off kilter it stood; beautifully scarred.
The wind slid over tender leaves whisper soft and trembling;
Secrets scattered to the heavens a mortifying wild bluster.
Naked yet fully clothed, my soul revealed for scrutiny.

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