The dying light
all golden
turning trees
into shadows
wraps me in
a solmnenty
and I feel the weight
of the day
dropping down.
I feel the ripples
through my heart
pebbles in a pond
of memory
and I do not escape
unscathed.
Tag Archive: being real
Alone, my thoughts
drift to you…
awakened by love…
mind awash in hope.
Scared , but not defeated…
cold fingers of doubt cannot
overturn this joy…
this longing to be free…
thoughts of you careen… a
Juxtaposition of peace
and fear. Hope and longing.
never have I been so
alive and unafraid…
songs from the wind
invading my mind… give me
elusive joy…. surcease..
worry melting like snow..
intimacy beckons, and I answer the
call…hesitant…then full of a
zeal I did not know I could possess..
December has a
Sense of urgency…
Days flowing too fast
And I can’t find my footing…
Stumbling over these rocks
Of grief,
And falling down hard –
Body battered
Soul crying out for help
To an empty room
The wall’s silence
Screaming back at me…
Needles of that empty echo
Piercing my heart….
What is one more wound?
I sat tonight
Reading Frost
By the dim light
The taste of cranberry
Across my tongue
As I sipped my drink.
The cold November wind
Biting my neck and
Blowing my hair
In my face.
The soaring voice
Of a violin in my ears…
In this moment…
Content…
To let my spirit
Soar and plummet
With the notes,
Sad when the music fades…
Buoyed again
When mesmerized by
The dance of the trees…
The wind their
Loving partner.
For one so at home in the dark,
I often awake to find myself tormented…
plagued, harried
Utterly broken and
so. very. afraid.
Why is it so easy to breathe
At night, sitting alone in the dark
And in the early morning hours
Every breath is a
Ragged gasp…
Fighting for air…?
Why, when I should feel uneasy
Sitting in the night air
Listening to the wind
And the sounds from the city
Do I feel fearless?
Peaceful?
Yet in the breaking daylight
Peace gives way to
Turmoil…and
So much pain…
Every dark thought
Is a blade across my heart
Every shortcoming
A curse on my soul
And every tear shed
Feels like a shameful thing
Crying alone over coffee
Hating myself with a loathing
Beyond anything i have ever felt
For anyone else.
Languid, half asleep, in morning hours
I hear your voice…
Half-finished conversations
rushed conclusions
hasty goodbyes…
And I turn over …
again, searching for sleep –
wondering where dreams begin
only to end again… and why.
Thoughts blow like November winds
through my mind
prickling my skin
and bidding me dig deeper
into the covers to seek
my comfort there…
to find surcease from the black
loneliness that sometimes
threatens in the early morning hours
absent your voice…
I am treading water here..
riding the black waves of fear
and despair, trying
not to drown, but
to rise up on that current
and find my hope
my center
my self
and SWIM…
One day I will
hear a noise in the
dark and will not fear…
will not stop
*breathing*
to listen for
his footsteps…
but will, instead
pause, to hear
your voice calm me…
and listen for your lullaby..
my November wind…
whistling past the window…
lulling me to sleep…
November wind,
you are my lover
teasing forth pink buds
and prickling my skin
with your cool caress…
Wringing from my lips
sighs of satisfaction
etched with
an aching longing.
Your invisible fingers
dance along my neck
and your soughing sigh
thrills me…
your voice my
private symphony…
I find myself
languid in your
cool embrace…. seduced,
aching and satisfied.
There is a symphony
all around me
that haunts me,
romances me,
bouys me… lifts
me to unforseen
heights and
somehow…
sits with me
in the low places…
lighting the dark
…showing me
the way home…
I hear melodies
in the grass, the leaves,
the whispering wind,
the etherial
beauty in the
song of the stars
full of longing
and an ever-
reaching hope…
dark, mysterious,
beautiful…
home.
captivatingbitter 