Friday 13

Poetry month, day 13

Friday 13

She is a bolting horse 

escaped from the stable.

Her bones are lightning, 

her flesh is quicksilver.

She is a swift arrow loosed 

to disappear without warning.

She is the natural curve 

of the earth, ever receding.

She is the anger you rediscover

in your voice, the shaking breath –

your own moods taking exception

to all and any comfort offered.

She is storm, she is forest fire, 

she is flood and cyclone. She must

pass through. She will perplex; 

pray she does not destroy.

13 Is Poetry, says Magaly at "imaginary garden with real toads", inviting us to choose 3-13 words from a given passage and use them in a poem full of metaphor. I had fun describing ... who? ...what? I didn't quite know, flirted with the idea of naming her Nemesis, but decided that, as this is Friday 13th, it's more like a promise that the old bad luck will get ya. Nevertheless the image is of Nemesis, I think from a game. It was made available for free download so I assume Public Domain.

My words:  disappear flesh bones natural perplex voice exception anger rediscover pass comfort moods breath