Poetry: 1 Poem by Fabrice Poussin
Heart of the Storm
Breeze, babe in motion, you might yet remain ignored;
shall you not find brethren to give you some kind of pep talk?
Chances are few, for most times you grow to adulthood,
breeze, babe, you become ferocious, destructive, unloved.
Jealous upon the young you seem to dream of wrinkly brows;
too soon, too early, you bring death in a swift swirl;
walking against your mighty effort, can you be such evil,
as to undo what was done of passion and pure love?!
The ground is wet, mud sticks to her feet Angelique;
can she not simply take flight as was once her custom?
Must you, Great Aeolus, act without a further thought unkind,
instead feed no fire, start no hurricane, but touch our spirit!
See the beauty classical, vulnerable, carrier of all life;
she walks to you, not against you, to a death certain;
yet you, master of the storm, can, must consider her life.
Contain your hatred; envious, you too may find a mate.
With a gust of course, against the ultimate fate,
you may throw her, and break many a hope in bone,
her blood in uncountable spots leave a stain,
crush a heart to a thin sheet upon the plane of infinity.
Implored you are to restrain your aim, compassion
alone, you seek a mate of soul, thus please love,
though she, goddess of man, will not the favor return;
be calm, as she is secret, source, and origin of me.
_ photo credit: "So Far Away" by Fabrice Poussin.