©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Malani Bulathsinhala

The magic of the universe
calls out to me from every star.
Beyond the moon, my dreams unfold
and carry me to worlds afar.

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Maxime Dore on Unsplash

The parched soil drinks their holy blood.
They lay their bodies down like wine:
last dregs of fleeing innocence,
surrendered on the sacred vine.

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

A wedge of years has crept between our hearts,
though we are of an age in days alone.
My waning health your self-esteem disarms,
for you absorb my limits as your own.

  ©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Jonathan Kemper on Unsplash

seeds of faith

Faith is a sacred gift in life,
a gift we seize or spurn.
The seeds are freely granted us;
the fruit is ours to earn.

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

Image: The Dream, by Jacek Yerka

I draw my sleep beneath a golf ball moon,
where verdant trees sprout tiny, ticking clocks.
Deep waters hold me close in rippled arms,
enfold me in a soft, white bed of rocks.

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

Photo by Kristyn Lapp on Unsplash

Their roots were in the land;
the land was everything.
The old ones took a stand,
inured to suffering.

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

Unfair I may be, but I’m not
quite certain of that fact.
It’s hard to be objective when
you judge the way I act.

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

If ever in my final, fading years
the essence of me drifts too far away…
if I am lost as reason disappears,
hold me in memory until the day
when body stills at last and spirit flies
to make a home in brighter, bluer skies.