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A touch would be a dream. A mere gesture, a physical contact, a touch, an embrace, a kiss. And yet, as small as my wish, it forms the water - clean, clear, sparkling - which slips through my doting fingers. All I want is to hold you, or see you at length. But whether be fate or misfortune, distance rings our hearts, rings our necks. (unknown date) ~ ~ ~ Before I Was Five The world anew; gaping through fresh eyes at table, chairs, floor - all a wonder in sweet youth, all precious as crystal - reaching up to grasp the whole; coming up empty, yet curious. Raindrops glisten nameless. Flowers bloom nameless. Seasons change nameless. Snow sparkles nameless. Nothing identified; all crisp and fresh; complex simplicity adorned in layers to be peeled each year until stripped away... Titled, named; lost forever, though always there; same things, different eyes. Growing up. 9.27.00 ~ ~ ~ Darkness Darkness, my old friend, my comfort when the orb dissolves and silence sets in. Creeping peacefulness; one that embraces yet pricks the backs of necks. Solitude and Darkness. Eternal companions who desire space, much as one desires a companion in darkened space. 10.5.00 ~ ~ ~ Dreamscape The glimmer of a tear matches that of a star in the velvet blue canvas above, upon which wishes are painted, each constellation encasing it, carefully storing its love. And so the Earth marvels at this breath-taking scene, never pondering that the origin of its beauty is within themselves, within their dreams. 10.5.00 ~ ~ ~ Paternal Compassion Repeatedly beaten by the higher, no scars on the flesh, no shine to the soul. No youthlike glimmer in the eyes. Scolded past assurance, eliminating the little love left in a sacred child's heart; killing all remaining joy that cowered deep within. Left with the Sister of Sorrow and a blade for stinging blood. Farewell. 10.10.00 ~ ~ ~ Carnival Of Souls Dance about the firelight, forget the day, it's done. Gaze skyward at the glowing moon, encircle, we are one. The flames lick at the velvet cape that of the stars doth shimmer; the shadows prance and weave about and mask the dewy glimmer. Feasts of past traditions held to welcome loved ones home, loved ones who had slipped away come to embrace their own. Souls abound a sacred place where sacred ones remain, and bless with spirit's fortune so we may yet sustain. And when the dance is over, when the last of embers die, the loved ones, though their souls away, in our own doth lie. 10.11.00 ~ ~ ~ Oddity Wouldn't it be strange if nothing ever changed? If all would stay the same, and everything remained? You may start to ask why oddity would imply if nothing was awry? But think, if you would try... When of strange we think, we try to form a link in what's between a blink and our dreamy kinks. But what if nothing changed, and all remained the same, we never waxed or waned - wouldn't it be strange? 10.13.00 ~ ~ ~ Little Girl's Instant Reeling into the realm of fantasy I reside I lie listening to the throb (throbbing throbbing throbbing) itching at my mind, scratching at its entrance (clicking clicking clicking) nearing the core of my consciousness. Vibration wakens me (breakfast darling), showing me the ghouls of reality, snatching my veil (my precious veil) which drapes so tenderly over my eyes. The blurs sharpen, horrifying the sapphire, teaching it anew (silly child, why cry now?), throwing comfort away (ripped to shreds). And the throb (throbbing throbbing throbbing) breaks through the cold as I kick and twist against my glassy childhood mold. 11.8.00 ~ ~ ~ Note To Self Keep to yourself, little girl, lock up your cave. You give up your black paper, and you call yourself a slave. Cling to your bubbles with the glittery burst, and strip yourself down for none of the curse. Triple your heartstrings, and catch catfish cold. Blink with a ringstand, and your childhood mold. Swim with the leopards, and talk with the bait. Keep your head unscrewed, and covet your hate. 11.30.00 ~ ~ ~ Hiccuping Clouds Hiccuping clouds on a blizzard playground, spraying your holy water and recieving it back as ice. It is worthless to a bird of black hue. Serve it to your red and white pigeons who greedily peck up all that you offer. We keep ourselves on the wire... watching. My stomach pangs with rejection from my breezy Buddha wannabe. Please tell me it's me. The voice. "Come with me, young one. Choose your day and choose your wings. Match them well, child, if you would sing." Line patterns are bleeding - no, cutting - through paper with sharp memory to stab me. 12.1.00 |