Dream Lenses

I had a dream today.

Hand in Hand, we flew
over the frost-tipped mountains;
we swooped and darted
in and out of the hollows, that dotted the peaks
like freckles [or scars] on weather-worn children.
We chased one another
until, exhausted, we collapsed
on the banks of a near-by stream.
Breathing heavily, we threaded our fingers
through the newly-sprung blades;
We grasped the ground, knuckles-white,
feeling the warmth of the earth
seeping into us, rooting us, briefly.
We watched as a school of salmon
leaped upstream
and defied nature, for nature’s sake.
We clamored down to the water’s edge
and bent forward, noses almost submerged,
to glimpse the creatures skimming and skittering
across the liquid surface,
leaving only the slightest trace,
a Rippling of existence.
We tried to follow them
as carefully as possible,
but our weight, even in dream, was too great
and we tumbled into the icy creek.
We resurfaced shrieking as we jumped
out of our skin.
We left them there, our former shells,
as we took to flight,
soaring high above the landscape once again.
A chill still lingered,
but we flew fast and hard,
starring straight into the sun
without blinking.
Eyes-watering, we continued;
the world became a pin-prick
behind us—undistinguishable.
On still, we flew,
until a brief emptiness loomed before us,
and we took our place,
Hand in Hand.

A splinter of heaven.

Soliloquy

It’s hard to watch them like this,
yelling, screaming,
so sad and angry…
I wish they could understand how it is for me up here.

I can see them all,
each and every one of them.
I can feel their pain clawing at my insides;
it’s amazing that it doesn’t rip me into pieces
and scatter me among the other White Giants.

The most frustrating part is that I can’t take the hurt away,
at least, not how they want me too.
They want to wake up and have a perfect world
at their fingertips, every single day.
But that’s not how I designed this to work!

I took away the strings, and the scripts,
and left the props at their disposal.
It’s their stage now,
they can transform it into whatever they want…
Comedy or tragedy, the choice is theirs to make.
I sit here, in the audience,
sometimes laughing, sometimes crying;
Watching acts and scenes, intermissions and finales,
curtain calls and, occasionally, Encores.

I listen to Monologues,
pleading me to do something,
anything to lesson the burdens of life…
but Still, I sit…

And wonder if I did the right thing
By letting them go free.

Concerto

strands of music float
In and Out, caressing his senses.

he latches onto the tune,
falling into its rhythm.

as it crescendos around him,
then slowly s i n k s into mezzo piano,
a hushed silence hangs in the air…

and the final notes reverberate
into Stillness.

Untitled

“…and my memory weaves
a golden mist,
undimmed dewdrops
drenched by purple twilight.
The radiant glow of brief years,
wisps of remembrance,
once Clear notes plucked on Muted strings.
O, time,
dispel the clouds gathering and tugging
at the threads…”

And on, the girl in my shoes walks,
singing glittering nonsense,
leaving evenly distributed footprints
soon to be covered by dirt or snow or time…
While others sink below or rise above,
she is content to float in their currents,
to be pulled along
without fighting for her own Foothold.

A living, breathing cliché.

Quick! Take a picture of her!
Watch as she tries to stand out,
All the while cloaked in the camouflage
Of normality!

I feel we should applaud her for her forged effort,
But she cannot see us…

Her eyes are closed.

[simplicity]

simple hands
simple touch
simple kisses
simple rush
simple looks
simple blush
simple hopes
simple trust
simple comb
simple brush

simplicity,
it is enough.

Hunger

Rolling droplets
of sticky, sugary
syrup
trickle down between your shoulder blades.

The scent,
overwhelmingly sweet,
Swallows me.

I need a taste
before you melt
And leave me ravenous.

The Storm, Part I

Slow and Rumbling
Creeping
Covering
sending the Scared
scattering to hide
Under furniture.

Unable to Move
Unable to Breathe
waiting...

for the Storm to pass.

The Storm, Part II

Rays of Sunlight
break through the clouds
Once again
Sending the sign (though Olive Branches are hard to come by),

that the Rain
that falls so swiftly at this moment
that hinders the vision
that streaks down the window pane and pools on the sill,
Rippling and Splashing
in a cacophony fit for a Paradise lost

that this Waterfall,
that creates an ambiance of mystery,
Of things Unknown and still to come,
Of those things beyond,
shroaded in the Mist
hidden from view except for the briefest glimpse
through the iridescent Curtain...

that all of this, all of it,
will eventually fall away,
leaving only a trickle, a dew...

fast-drying in the Sunlight.