Vultures

 

To be scrutinized for what we say

—was what was said what we intended?

And was it really conscious choice,

or just something you invented?

It’s strange, those ready to believe

the worst in one who gives their best.

Perhaps this life is just a test.

And if a test, I doubt we’ll pass.

When our judgment comes at last 

and we sit before the throne

will we be judged by who we are

and all the good that we intoned?

Or by misspoken word or line

that followed us through space and time

as vultures that we’ve never met

sit inside their cozy homes

and through their window screens attempt

to cast their multitude of stones

and shatter lives they’ve never known.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Sisyphus

 

Who knew how steep the path would be?

How every step exacts a cost?

I’ll not solicit sympathy

for we each carry our own loss.

 

Like Sisyphus we climb that hill

along a slow and winding path;

the boulder rolls before us still

cruel penance from a god who laughs.

 

So accustomed we’ve become

of so much loss, so little gained…

our limbs grow tired, our body numb

while acclimating to the pain.

 

We cannot dwell on might-have-beens

in lieu of all we’ve known and seen;

the hour grows late still we contend

the endless torment of this dream.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

First Light

Castings of white in the early morn ­

soft blanket of frost upon the grass;

it coats the barren sleeping oak,

the maple and the evergreens—

what, pray tell, has come to pass?

The fairies and woodland sprites

have enlisted the north wind to their aid

and in the sleepy, predawn light

we are greeted by this sight

woven throughout a winter’s night.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023