Ancient steps, aging breath,
Dark, stained glass
Entwined in bronze...
No shine, spark.

Should I change the laws of life?
Should I pull aside the Veil?
I can hold the roses of Heaven.
I can hold the Hell of thorns.

Places in Time, names forgotten.
Inner lights of buttercups...
Not picked, vased, or mantled.
Seeds.

When did I swim in primordial waters?
When did I crawl out to breathe?
Where were my families to greet me?
Where were the footprints to follow?

Never-time. Warm, candled cabin.
Snow-covered valleys to sleep in.
Cuddled,
Fading upward.

I can arrange the rules of Days.
I can mold the Crescent Light.
Never will the roses curl, brown...
Never will the thorns dull.

elysabeth faslund

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/almost-sisters-why-leave-the-earth/