We met under a winter’s moon with broken hearts hidden inside down coats zipped up to dare the cold – should it be tempted. ♦ I met you in my dreams once, reaching out to touch your soul while the stars kissed my cheeks. Their light pure and untainted by the darkness surrounding them. ♦
Where do the words go in our dreams? Do they walk the shrouded banks of memory – placed there on faded tombstones to defend centuries of violence and bloodshed. Or do they ride the endless streams instead – searching for unpanned treasure to map for our children, who might also stumble in their dreams. The
Traveling on the afternoon’s s warm breeze, time accedes to a gentler pace – my breath held in anticipation… Their graceful transit infatuating my senses. Older and wiser as the lucky ones are, time has grown patient with its willful charge – young but full of promise, tucked safely within their temporal shells. And –
The silence beckons my jaded ears, sounding both exotic and foreign next to words shouting for supremacy in the latest shuffle. Their cries converging in singular lament. When its ancient voice instructs me to stand a little closer, whispering an old truth that directs my sight toward dawn. Empty words unable to see… My thoughts filling with
We’ve been fightin’ for so long, I forget why we started. Goin’ on for way too long. It’s been years since we spoke. You won’t talk to me, and I don’t know why.
Abandoned night after night, weeping in your sleep. Never that far to start, I hear your sobs beating on the stars. I know you can’t hear me, but I love you. And, in case I never told you, I’m proud of you. Your shoulders straight; your will ironclad. I know you can’t see me, but I’m here. I
In a smoke filled room, her eyes settle on mine, reading the latest scribblings from my soul. What phrase is she weighing so closely? Will she read the bits scrawled outside the margins? What does her smile say? Recognition dawning, her eyes tell a story of love and compassion with the soft whisper of passion, heard only by me. Unknown to
Stuck in these clothes that don’t fit – Ugh! Time to throw them out – But one size fits all. Says who? Stuck in a body that doesn’t fit – But one size fits all. Then why don’t I Fit? I don’t act like I’m s’pose to. I don’t look like I’m s’pose to. And why am I s’pose to like
“Step over the box.” His meaning clear. A box appearing from nowhere. Supposedly indifferent, seeming unmovable. Tenable words. Untenable doubt rising… Fear clouding over. The choice never given, ever out of reach. Now presented. The box simple enough, with nothing unusual to see. The usual four sides. Cardboard flaps dangling wide. Nothing to hide. But I knew different. The monster
Curtains falling as reality implodes onto slumber’s star studded stage. Sailing sleep’s somniferous oceans, ephemeral dreams night’s beloved visitors. Saturn’s rings a celestial highway, lashes sweeping its dusty roads. Moonlight lending light speed. Destination: the City of Atlantis. Translucent souls immured in imperfection, slippery shadows still slumming thought. Sequestered spirit summoned, star forged, hooves ablaze,
Another pale dawn breaking over the horizon, smoke rising sleepily from night’s slumber, disappearing behind first morning’s light. Ethereal dancers soubresauting atop a glittering stage. Below, a freshly fallen white cover promising to rewrite yesterday’s sorrows. New sorrow replacing old, filling the pages with renewed hope. ©2016 Brenda Baker
“So – Philippe is nice, isn’t he?” Sativa smiles in agreement, “Yes, very nice.” “Very handsome too!” Sativa’s laughter spent, “Yes, very handsome.” she finally affirms. Lydie, her best friend since moving to Marseille, was always looking toward the next adventure, just waiting for them to pioneer. Nearly a year since they met, when fear reached its peak – a
Sad eyes searching, in quiet contemplation, while dread invades quickly and without warning. Truth, held captive, cries out to hope in anguish; its wings fluttering in protest against cold, dark thoughts, seeking resolution, but fearing the answer, evades the question. Old doubts – unearthed in haste – have stirred, threatening clarity’s consumption, truth’s faithful companion.