Sequences

My soul has crest

Upon the shores

Of life and love,

And there, expressed

Its deepest self,

Suckling

At the breast

Of Mother Earth -

            And then returned to sea

                              To quest

                                          Once more

                                                          For being

                                   In rythmic pulse,

                    Eternally.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

We possess life

As riverbed

Possesses river.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

Perhaps he masters best

Who seeks the least

To master.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

If I am Cinderella,

Banish all the clocks.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

As flow is fed,

So it distributes

Life ahead.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

Does a rose

Feel these sensations

As it unfolds,

Peeling off the petals

One by one,

Letting them

         Curl

                Soften

                         Age

                               And fade

                                       And finally fall away?

Does it feel like minutes

Or eternities?

Does Time escape

      And rape

               Away its life?

                          Or

              Is it given gracefully –

     In love?

             ______© Nellieanna H. Hay

Crest my soul

Upon pinnacles

Of love and trust.

It is safe

To give and take

And to be filled,

To lap the shore

Then trickle back

To sea once more,

The vital nourishment

Dissolved within

The droplets

Of thyself.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

To grow

I just let go

And know

I live.

              To live

                        I must fall freely

                                     In uncertainty

                                                  Without restraint

                 And trust the landing

                 To be soft -

                          But moving.

Certainty

   Would bruise me,

      Use me up.

                              ______© Nellieanna H. Hay

                                          From life's

                                       Messy mixture

                                        Poetry rises

                                          To the top

                                          Or settles

                                        To the bottom

                                          In its  time.

                              With its highest aspiration,

                                   Its lowest tribulation

                                  Expressing into words.

                                      In bits of  rhyme.

                            ______© Nellieanna H. Hay