Poems On My Thoughts, Fears & Dreams
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Safety in the Dark
The Creek
I Found Me
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Safety in the Dark
It’s night and everyone is asleep but me.
I sit on the lounge and listen for the quiet.
Darkness insulates me from reality.
Not wanting to waste this glorious time alone.
I sit on the lounge and listen for the quiet.
The faint crackling of the fire comforts me.
I look out the window and listen for the quiet.
Heat of the room warms my cheeks.
How I envy the freedom of the flames.
I look out the window and listen for the quiet.
Weariness ladens my eyes like lead.
I take a deep breath and listen for the quiet.
No, I don’t want to give in to sleep just yet.
This time is my featherbed of peace.
I take a deep breath and listen for the quiet.
The doors are locked and the law won’t call.
I stare at the shadows and listen for the quiet.
My fears are asleep dreaming away.
Morning taunts me as they will come back to life.
I stare at the shadows and listen for the quiet.
It is now time to give in to my tiredness.
I step on the cold floor and listen for the quiet.
With the hall door locked I slip into bed.
My haven, my friend now I can rest.
I step on the cold floor and listen for the quiet.
It is so safe here in the dark where no one can see me.
I stare at the ceiling and listen for the quiet.
How content I feel away from the noise.
The darkness protects me from sharp claws.
I stare at the ceiling and listen for the quiet.
I’m so weary and quickly fall asleep.
My last thoughts are of building castles in the air.
This is something I must do.
Copyright owned
By Tracy Willet,
30st August 1999.
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The creek was such a special place,
where as a child I did play.
My friends and I would often gather,
many a cold winters day.
Our hands and noses pink with cold,
shoes and socks all soaking wet.
But this never stopped us once you know,
for there were lots of fat taddies to get.
My friends and I giggled and laughed,
all hoping to gain the biggest catch.
Searching though sludgy brown water,
for the prize that no one could match.
Squatting down the slippery bank,
mud packed hard between my toes.
Goodness knows what mum will say,
this the worst of my creek day woes.
Sitting on my beloved wooden bridge,
our grubby little feet would swing.
Yet another eventful day at my creek,
so much fun to me it did bring.
I once brought my children here to play,
they were eager as beavers to romp.
How delightful it was to see them mirror,
my youthful joy where once I did stomp.
Now I sigh and feel my eyes cloud over,
my beloved old creek never does run.
The bridge has long rotted away,
my playground through rain and sun.
But then I turn with a smile on my face,
for a little girls memory lives on.
I often return to hear echos of the past,
to re-live special moments long gone.
By Tracy Willet
14th August 1999.
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Days have past,
now years are here to go.
At last I can say,
no longer are you my woe.
I look down deep,
and throw you a smile.
My hand is open,
and walking in single file.
We did so waste,
much time in flight.
A struggle it was,
fought will all our might.
You silly old thing ,
I was always there for you.
It just took awhile,
for our eyes to see it too.
All the bad judgements,
I have learnt to forgive.
I look in your ageing eyes,
and now embrace to live.
I talk of my inner self,
and how long it took.
To see the rose inside,
I never did look.
Now I see it blooming,
no thorns at all.
All pinks and yellows,
standing ever so tall.
By Tracy Willet
July 1999.
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