By Sybil Elizabeth Pretious
BLACK CLOUDS DRIFTED I floated heavily across the moonlit field. Above on the cliff, the light graced the wind-dancing grass For a moment I was still. Listening … nothing but the sighing. Black clouds claimed the light Drifting, secretly drifting. Wind grasped my hair, tugged it across my eyes. Shutters came down. The light captured behind lids and hair curtain. Silence but for the wheezing of the wind and the roar of the sea. Sound surrounding thoughts: Thoughts drifting like the black clouds. Solutions? None. A violent gust and I fall to my knees A whistling through my heart, A small prayer ventures out in the blackness. And then black clouds drift once more. The moon captures my sadness and lifts my soul to breathe again.
Sybil Pretious writes mainly memoir pieces, paints and composes an occasional poem to reflect her varied life in many countries. Lessons in life are woven into her writing encouraging risk-taking and an appreciation of different cultures.
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