RHYME Poem: Icon, by Stephen Rogers

Virginia Woolfe, wore pockets made stone
tried walking on water, walking alone.
an imperfect god, in his image made
one broken sparrow left nothing to trade

forbidden in love, nature denied
passions forsaken for self-imposed pride
sharing her visions, dreams to set sail
had doubts about fire, was certain of hell.

a soldier of misfortune, wounded bird
bottomed out soul, praying prayers, unheard,
word made flesh, philosophers stone
light in the distance, in a room of her own.

shadows gathered, knew her by name
‘The lighthouse keeper,’ tending Gods flame
that sad eyed lady, an Iris, in bloom
adorned Gods Garden, neath Jacobs room.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest