Tara Staunton Aspiring poet, photographer and genetic scientist. Lover of life, art, literature and sunshine

The fall, and rise.

 _

I fall and fall, time seems still

All sound muted

The world some harrowing illusion,

Now to me so ill suited.

 .

Half in dream, I see a face,

Sweet patron of the brave.

I am part now of this, bellowing ash

Cold grey tears rain down

The moment of ill thought comes,

As comrades around shout and frown.

 .

Lifted up, touch me not ill fated ground,

Carried now by the brave.

 .

The pain overwhelming, yet I cannot cry

Sweet goddess guiding

Through harsh unforgiving desert wind,

To save my life, away they are finding.

 .

Unconscious thought, she comes

Elegant and wise

A child in her loving hand she shows me,

I awake to life in relief and surprise.

 .

Brothers and loving wife greet me,

Delight fills their faces brave.

 .

At my kiss, wife cries in love

Her stomach, my pressing hand

A child in her loving womb she brings me,

My vision now I understand.

 .

I rest and dream of her,

Benevolent Britannica the brave.

 .

I fight and win, to new health time moves

All cheers roar

The world, my wife and son, beautiful and real

To me now everything I life for.