Rotorelle sings

Always a little wonky and a little wild and a little frayed, mainly because she was never entirely sure how to draw herself (even with the entire sky as her paintbox), 

Rotorelle swooped her way through strange and turbulent times…

and when people saw her, blazing a trail over angry protest marches, they raised their guns and their flags and their attitude mottos in her honour, expecting her to be a real badass.

But her song of choice, for all the vibrant colours of its melody, was a deeply gentle one.

It was the one song she could never ignore… the one song she could never switch off… the one song that caught in her breath and died in the sunset…

as vulnerable as the light from distant floating stars…

~~~~~~~

Such a tender face I saw,
dancing with all the things I’m not.

Such a tender face I saw,
woven with stars and forest green,
with water,
drained through mountain cloud;
whispered
through tide and broken shell.

Such a tender face I saw,
daring me
to wear me

like a spark.

Such a tender face I saw,
dancing with all the things I’m not
and
calling me home to what I am,

written
in waves of gentle fire;

watching the echoes as lesser loves burn.

Published by Woodsy

I'm John. I write stuff... poetic stuff... which I sometimes perform as Woodsy, the... er... "stuff performer." Feel free to check it out.

6 thoughts on “Rotorelle sings

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