Struggle.

I call upon them, angels, to keep me free.
I run with the wind: a free spirit.
I lash with the silvery snow during a winter blizzard.
There, when the sun rises like a golden rain of watercolors,
There, when the sun goes down in its prismatic glory of color,
Over the mountains, across the prairie grasses, over man's faces.
Bringing the brooks babbling over pebbles, not wanting to leave the lake, but anticipating the ocean.
The shallow lake ripples, teasing the shore and an eagle passes in flight.

Faces bronzed by a blazing sun.

I call upon them, angels, to watch over me.
I am taken with the wind, and it carries me like an unseen pillow.
I dance with the silhouettes on the trees, leaping with the moonlight.

There, when the mist rises after a summer rain,
There, when the sky splashes gold, bronze, and crimson,
Upon a star suspended in velvet darkness, upon a cloud in a blue abyss.
A rush and a flush like gossamer wings, but not yet, held with pink hands on a purple robe above the crashing, daunting waves.

I call upon them, angels, to guide me.
Guide me not wrong. Guide me straight.
Like a mariner and his stars guiding the ship.


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