The world pulsates through her bare chest as she dances Ankles tasting the oceans wake The flowers frilled in her hair Connect in constellations of woven grass and ebony strands They strum the song of the land She’s hungry And abandoned But the wind tickles her nose And her mind The ethos of the tree line Guards her from the wild jungle behind. The woman before you is divorced From the chant of wealth And status The woman before you dances To the beat of the medicine-man’s drum The woman of the world Bears her heart, which was scorned She bears her heart In a envelope of passion-flowers
From the Author
Well, apparently by “inconsistent uploads” I meant “hiatus.” Sorry about that! I’m still going to post my work here as I complete them, but yeah… December is a baaaaad month for me, reader.
This is a poem about a heart I’ve named “Farren.” She’s similar to the characterization I refer to as “The Nomad.”
Where “The Nomad” has always represented myself, “Farren” is my muse. Her name means “the land” or “adventure.” When I think of her in my mind’s eye, she’s always dancing with the wind. I hope that when you read of her, you see her passion, her love, her innocence, and her power.