From the ether calls abounding:
There's a feisty nymph about;
In her clan, co-leader standing,
Sadness, troubles pushed her out.
Caring gal, her magic stunted
For some reason yet unknown
Looking for a river, haunted,
One that she can call her own
Nymphs, as always, fickle creatures,
Beautiful in stranger ways
Are the soul of water bodies:
Rivers, trickles, waterfalls.
When a drought removes the water,
They get restless and upset,
And forget the good times chatter
Looking for new ones; reset.
They spawn other, smaller trickles,
Who bounce down the hills and plains,
And are scared and scarred when giggles
And fun times turn into pains
But nymphs' soul is theirs to bless with
And they cast it where they will.
Life attracts them, travel fortwith
And life changes are a skill,
To be learned and practiced further.
Change is constant where there's life,
And its enemy is order
When nymphs are beset by strife.
They protect and care. And suffer
When their water doesn't flow.
When their existence is tougher,
Like tough creature 's time to go.
Can a mere mortal savor
Magic present in such souls?
Hope is all that human labor
Can depend on to find goals:
Hope for harmony in chaos,
Hope for feelings strong and bold,
Hope for matching likes and pathos,
Hope for happiness untold.
One can hope and still know failure
Is a distinct possibility...
That the nymphal charm and alure
Are traps for audacity.
Yet we work and hope and gather
Reasons to capture apace
Feelings lost; and push and lather,
Like horses do when they race
Find a nymph and get lost in her,
In her eyes and in her arms,
Help her soul find its fresh water,
Join her happiness and charms.
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Moon Steer, Feb.2017 |