My Works
- Touch Me Not - If Not Broken... - Candle - Standing In Lost Hope -
Truth Behind Rhyme - Good-bye - Cupid's Face - Of Dream and Journal -
(Back to Main)
'Touch Me Not'
C.M. Watson

Touch me not, for I am wounded
And be thy hand the salt
Which doth add thyne insult
To injury mine.
Wound me naught more,
I beg of thee. Top of Page

'If Not Broken...'
C.M. Watson

If it's not broken, don't fix it.

Look through all the duct tape
Holding me together, and you'd see.
You all would see. Top of Page

'Candle'
C.M. Watson

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain.
Softly it came beating down against my window pane.

Somehow I climbed out of bed, and went to look outside,
The sky was dark but oh so clear, leaving no'ne to hide.

I knew I had to ready for the new school day,
So I leit a candle, and let the small light play.

It lit up my whole bedroom, and climbed up the far wall.
That light so startled my tomcat, who ran into the hall.

My darkended room was given light, and gleamed a happy glow.
Shadows danced around with light, and put on a little show.

The candle sat while the fame jumped, leaping through the air.
It looked something like a faerie, with wild fire hair.

Though the flame flickered, and almost died, it came right back with a small sigh;
Through blowing wind and playful paw, it still stood proud and high.

It was calming, my little light, standing there proud and true,
That it gave me courage, gave me sight, that I would see this dark storm through.

Little light, little light, shining through the stormy night,
Please stay lit and keep your glow, never leave my sight. Top of Page

'Standing In Lost Hope'
C.M. Watson

Standing in the land of Lost Hope,
Seeking to find reason why one cannot cope.
Knowing not if reason's wanted.
Dreaming of old memories past...
Crying, in the wake of night.
Facing, unwillingly, the fact of mind.
Forced to see from behind closed eyes,
Thrust into the truth from which all try to hide.
Yearning, wishing, for it not to be so.
Departed the once loved remains though.
Pray for them, and continu on.
Piercing the cries in the night once were,
Lean now towards another, and cry no more.
Call on others
To hear the words of others
And be to speak your own mind.
Look beyond the memories of past,
Shape a new memory, to overlook the last.
Mold the future you wish to cast.
Lift your head, you will cope.
Hide the moon, the memories, of Lost Hope. Top of Page

'Truth Behind Rhyme'
C.M. Watson

"Ring around the roses,"
Everyone supposes
It's nothing of the real,
It's nothing they should feel.

"A pocket full of posies,"
People cover up their noses.
The flowers helped them live
Thanks so the scent the flowers would give.

"Ashes, ashes,"
Here is where the catch is.
Children were cremated,
The plague made all intimidated.

"We all fall down,"
Down into the ground
Many people fell,
And 'Death Bird' hides the smell. Top of Page

'Good-bye'
C.M. Watson

Good-bye to the enemy others see in me,
Good-bye to the friend I could never be.
With all my might I tried to be the best,
But low and behold, I have failed that test.

My body will stay behind when this world I leave,
Yet I have a secret hidden up my sleeve.
My spirit has her own individual mind,
And my love, my kindred, she will always find.

This spell I weave for when I part,
For a witch I am with a love for my art.
My body, when dead, in the ground will lie,
But my spirit, to you, Love, she will always fly. Top of Page

'Cupid's Face'
C.M. Watson

(warning: in progress..)

She stole the face of cupid,
And wore it as her own.
She wore the moon about her body,
And danced all aglow.

Her hair was that of wild fire,
Flying free through the night.
Her hands were held up to the sky,
Spirit soaring in its flight. Top of Page

'Of Dream and Journal'
C.M. Watson

"Of Dream and Journal"
Written 31 October 2001

"Dear Journal," was written alone on the top line, unaccompanied by any other scrawling on the rest of the page.
I've been told before that one way to get over a fear was to write about it in a journal or similar. Perhaps just
on a loose piece of paper, just so it's written down somewhere. But I couldn't think of how to write it. It was just
too bizarre to put into words. But it was just a dream, wasn't it? 'But can't dreams mean things, or show things,
as well?' asked a little voice in the back of my head. I never did like that little voice people called a 'conscience,'
but I admit it did have a point this time.

Then something I've heard from somewhere (stored in the back of my mind for many a year) reached the surface
of my thoughts. Something about dreams continuing into reality. Yes, that would be the best way to describe it.
I'd had a dream that I was sitting at my desk, just as I was now, with that little scrawl on the notebook in front of me.
Then I'd heard a noise, and thinking that my sister had come into my room again, I turned to the doorway to tell her to
leave. But there was no one there, and the noise repeated from another direction. This time, I turned to the window.
'Must be that cat again,' I thought to myself. The little animal was always finding itself stuck in the tree outside my window.

But all thoughts in my head came to a stop in my head. It was not cat in that tree, this time. There was a young woman
who looked like my sister, dressed in very old clothes from around the colonial days of America. She appeared to be
standing on a branch, unmoving, with her head tilted down so that her tangled and matted hair fell over her face. I
stood from my chair to ask her what she thought she was doing, when I saw it. She wasn't standing on a branch; she was
hung from one further up. I screamed in fear, and started running from the room to find my sister, make sure she was
alright. Or just to find anyone, to tell me there really wasn't a person there outside my window.

Somehow, though, I wasn't in my bedroom any more. I stood, amazed and terrified, looking down the dungeon hall with
narrow doors along the wall, each no wider than myself. 'And probably just as deep,' I thought to myself, remembering
something I'd heard about the dungeons of the Salem Witch Trials. Shouting came from somewhere further down the
hallway, and not knowing anywhere else to go in this strange place, I followed them, hopefully to a way out of this place.
And suddenly I was outside, dressed in those same funny clothes the woman outside my window had been wearing with
shouts of "Witch!" coming at me from all sides. I tried to flee, but one of those colonial dressed people stopped me.
Unable to move, my eyes frantically looked around, trying to see something that would tell me this wasn't real. Then I
panciked. There, sitting loosely on a branch, was a rope with a hanging knot tied at the end. Someone had explained death
fears to me once, and hanging was mine.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and felt myself falling to the ground as hands let go of me, when a ringing noise reached
my ears. it was high-pitched and more annoying than anything else was. Just like an alarm clock, the worst sound in the
world in my opinion. My eyes shot open, and I stared at the little ringing alarm clock sitting on the nightstand next to my bed.
'That was one weird dream,' I thought to myself as I climbed out of bed, ready to go downstairs and get some breakfast
together. Then it caught my eye. A single notebook turned to a practically blank page, with two solitary words written
across the first line. "Dear Journal," they said. Top of Page