And He Wrote for Me

I awoke to an empty bed. It was cold and lonely. Ivy was stirring, so I quickly fed her and then went in search of my love. I needed him close.

There I found him sitting in a comfy chair, the soft glow of lamplight surrounding him, and he was writing. He was writing for me.

The Souls of Five
for Brianna Morrison

Of prose
She ponders the beauty of things small
Of beauty
She measures in one hand the simple
In the other, the incomprehensible

Of weakness
She wears victory like a ring of daisies on her head
Of victory
She wanders far and alone for children lost

Of courage
She carries the souls of five in her heart
She holds the others in her hand
Of fear
Fear is afraid of her

Of death
She has died since, many deaths
Truer than young men who die in war
Bloodier than by sword
Slower than by drowning

Of life
She is more alive than Spring
The song of five is on her lips
She breathes the names of the others
She lives truer than the color green, and
She has yet to come alive

She has yet to kiss the faces of five
While the others dance beside her.

by: Ryan Morrison