Oracle

by Robert Beydler

A desert resides- within
her mind’s eye
ever shaping her
as she slides- along
on the creature
created by

the cracks in her
skin- can prove
dissonance,
a harsh reality- outside
skews her own
view

through time,
still solids will be- known
to inner peace
she’s spellbound
in clay- color visions,
never knowing- any silence
beyond her living
piece,

a tattered dress,
her dreams, and much
worn- by any means
so her creation
may move along
as such

hours are
making things- move
’round
she sticks in silence
and the words tick in her
mind

Everything’s wrong.
My head hangs with shame.
I’ll never come out of my desert,
my clay- of it, my elephant
I’ve made.

On years and
on- she disappeared
into the distance
tired
as a stranger
in a strange land

she left to be a stranger,

inspired- by her inner clay
sands