by Theresa C. Gaynord
The kindred walk past spattered moss
where sweet brims of purest water cockle
fresh blades of fine grass. Valleys of blue
Lucerne yawn and rise beneath the
darkness of a gallows tree as a circle of
hands hang silently suspended.
The soul descends to bond, mending
differences, as the dry tears of Isis kiss a
chameleon's skin, where a beacon of light
has gathered under the Dog Star and where a
praying mantis conducts a search for a single
With the trust of rosy hands still dancing in the
sight of Heaven, they would come back to the
same spot throughout the years, scattering ashes
of loved ones whose laughter had soon faded
yet regenerated back to wonder with the
innocent floating energy of their loving touch.
© 2021 Theresa C. Gaynord
Theresa likes to
write about matters of self-inflection and
personal experiences. She likes to write about matters of an out-of
body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects of an idyllic, pagan
nature and the occult. Theresa writes horror, as well as concrete
gritty and realistic dramas. Theresa is said to be witch and a poet.
(within the horror writing community).
Find more by Theresa C. Gaynord in the Author
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