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"Reflections"
| Another
Shore
Into
the night she weaved her breath
strangely sweet with the flowers of mirth.
Into the night she sang her song and danced
the melodies of earth.
Into the day she galloped to realms
beyond the realms of the morning
and sang her song, her morning song
and carried her head high against the scorning.
She dreamed the dream of another life,
of another time, of another space.
Reality became the dream,
and the dream was of another place.
"She's mad!" they said, but was
she mad
or did she know what others ignore?
There is a world beyond our thought
which touches on another shore.
©2000
Sharon Terry
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A
Poem, A Song, A Smile
A
poem is nourishment to the soul
A song is nourishment to the heart
A smile sometimes brings sadness
And enlightens the spirit of love within.
©Sharon
Terry
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My
Soul
My
soul aches for the sun,
hot upon my skin—
an inferno
dripping sweetness
from millions of miles away.
Turn to me, oh sun,
and speak your name
into my heart—
for all life emanates
from you.
Turn and gaze upon me,
and pierce my soul—
an arrow piercing a target—
an arrow shot from a star.
My soul aches for you, oh sun.
©1996 Sharon Terry
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of Page
Alive
I
speak your name,
but no one listens.
I spell the words softly
in my mind,
but there is no one to
interpret what I hear.
I listen to countless
messages,
playing and
replaying.
My heart aches,
and I don't know
why.
I listen softly.
I scream loudly.
I awaken to the scream of
my own voice,
but no one hears my cry.
Out of the dust I come,
rising up,
strong and alive.
Turning,
I look to see the
force
supporting my tired frame.
I see my face reflected in yours,
and then, I know.
©1993 Sharon Terry
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Reflection
Blue
reflected from the
sky in
Wet pavement,
in icy fields,
shining into the
eye of the soul,
Reflecting God's glory
as in a heart of
glass
with many facets
of light,
swollen with pungent
memories,
made whole by the
work within.
Earth and sky
connected as one,
no barriers in space
save one-
the limitation of
the soul
who seeks God's glory
Think not that it is done
for our glory.
It is a collective consciousness
returned to its maker.
©1996 Sharon Terry
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On
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Poems
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