Alive by Christina Knowles

Signs of Life“Alive”

I am alive

Once merely lingering, undeniably,

Through the journey I have thrived

Pain dwells in me

Eight swords still mark the space

But blinded I am bound

To this time and place

I am alive

The searing burn inside

Recognizes the offense

An ache that won’t subside

But still I am alive

The recompense is joy

Laughter that resides

Deep down, a place I thought destroyed

It’s true; I am alive

Excitement of uncertain futures

The Wheel of Fortune turns

Rumors in the cards discerned

Afflicted by the Sword

With dreams that have yet to die

Yes, I am alive

An unlikely state from past mistakes

The Hanged Man now is loved

A Lover, he becomes

Beholden, he succumbs

Driven to survive

Indeed, I am alive

Drifting down a nameless road

The signs of life abound

A Fool’s errand, I know

All around me, a presage

I am a life compelled

A glimmer, just a vestige

The hidden hazards of the Moon

In the Sun dispelled

Still Death, a knight, rides close

Morose, I journey forward

Simply because I am alive

A portent of the end of days

But days till then I’ll spend

With Justice, who sits on her throne

Her sword alone is raised

This is the company I keep

The path I have embraced

While still I am alive

Further down the quiet road

I stride in hopes to find

A way to lift the load

To fix the broken kind

The chaos in the sky

Death about to die

I’ll doctor it the best I can

And breathe into it life

For all around the signs are there

And I am still Alive—Christina Knowles (2016)

Photo: Signs of Life by Christina Knowles. Copyright 2016.

“A Willow Bends” by Christina Knowles

windinthewillows

“A Willow Bends”

A willow bends to the wind.

In approbation, she attends,

pledging fealty to the goddess.

The goddess waxing great, her promise.

An accomplice, sacrosanct yet equal,

she presides. Congenial,

she pulls the tide.

Bursting wide,

streams spill,

worshipping still

with their liquid hands,

sculpting stones

and building thrones

and shaping earth,

growing shallow for rebirth.

Cracked and dried beauty,

the brittle earth, ripe to be

encompassed in fire.

The elements conspire,

bringing the seedling forth anew.

Draped in the morning dew,

the seedling willow weeps

in joy, breathing deep

the ether of the stars,

and growing aging scars,

the willow reaches to her goddess,

the promise of her solace.

Then slowly the willow bends

in acquiescence to the wind.

–Christina Knowles

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