Glory
Lyndsey Parsons
Soft feathered leaves tickle my hand as I run my fingers down a sturdy spine. Glory clothed in delicate green veins caressed through curious fingers. Sweet aroma spills from white petals hanging from bent limbs as gangly yellow antennae reach toward the sun. Glory clothed in the perfume of blossoms sniffed through hungry nostrils. To think glory was never meant for only the mind to behold but destined to be sensed— caressed, sniffed, and witnessed by the entire being until it seeps to the depths of the soul. And every soul is a country left behind with tattered memories abandoned on the wayside. Beneath vast skies I can see the lay of the land and every single step forms a footpath in front of me. Although I was born here, I'm a foreigner, for I was not made to bear the din of industrial dreams. I'm being made to walk barefoot through a garden that will never disappear.
News About the Anthology
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We are hard at work preparing our first poetry anthology, shaped by the voices and authors published in Poems & Paraboles.
It was a joy to collaborate with you, Kassi! Thrilled this is out in the world.
Lyndsey, when I read your poem I’m enthralled by the sensory images of a garden that lead to wandering, then walking forward in a hope that becomes palpable.
Thank you for sharing your work with us! 🤩