Stars, a sonnet


The sky is spilling light like broken glass-

the stars of heaven wither as they sink,

like flowers cut and left to die. The last

star falls – unpinned, the sky dissolves like ink.

We cower under falling mountains – end

of all that here is born and breathes and dies

looms larger than my shadow could pretend.

(We have no angels left to hear our cries.)

The dark is deeper than my eyes and long-

er than my arms. But fallen flowers rise

and blaze above the ash; an age of song

and legend burns in their eternal eyes.

Warm wings unfurl like nebulae and then

They stand, far taller than the dreams of men.

© Sheila Roberts


An Unexpected Post

In a blog on the web there lived a Wordsmith.  Not a nasty, dirty, unspell-checked blog filled with celebrity gossip and oozy shades of pink, nor yet a dry, bare, dusty blog, with nothing but Arial font and nothing to ponder: it was a Wordsmith’s blog, and that means – well, you shall find out what it means in a post or two.

Hello everyone.  I am here, on the web, with my words, endeavoring to encourage, to challenge and to rekindle. I think I have things worth saying and I hope that you will take the time to listen. 


Apologies to Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien.