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Feral Woman


Rusty Broadspear

Sounds of pealing bells scatter down,

Invisible petals fall all around.

The young maiden, scrawny, lithe

And in cheap tight dress, she reaches up.


Angry, screeching I watch her writhe,

Shaking her fists at the evening sky.


Shoeless, bare arms, vulnerable

To the elements and my curious stare.

A captive animal without a cage.


Her head whips round trailing auburn hair.

Eyes smouldering I step back afraid.

She throws me, she knows me,

Sees through me and like a spiritual grenade


She explodes into my very soul.

Her pure essence is conveyed, displayed,

Such a Holy sight, Im filled with fright,

Wonderment and pure delight.


In the clearing in the forest, the breeze dies

A residue of  soothing quiet, ensues.

While I think of what Id seen, she lies

Quite still. Vulnerable, such flimsy cover, no shoes.


Whose fluid life, Id watched, in moments.

Sobbing softly, at the scars engraved so deep

Upon her heart. No longer entwined, sadly apart,

I walk over, hold her hand, as she rests in sleep.


Maybe not sleep - my mind rocked, as her eyes unlocked

She was brimming with a love for me that I could see.

Mutual emotions - not unexpected still, I was shocked.

This woodland nymph from nowhere, was so cold,

Yet so warm. I covered her and carried her, to a secret place,

We talked, we kissed, chopped off our dubious chains.


And in her hands she held my face

And in my hands I held her face.

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