RipplesSoft sighs as wind blowsside by side mother daughterripple the water
Secret danceSee in the garden,dancing merrily, lovelysky-bound butterflies
Dreams in the RainSleep, rain is fallingsoftly, slipping down through dreamswater for the mind...and food for thought thattantalizes the soul, hintsat things yet to be...Possibilitiesare paths not yet chosen andthe dreams not yet dreamt.
Directions of a WandererWhere ever the wind doth blowlead me, take me,I will go...Right of left and Left of rightonward and upward,into the night...Conventions thou shalt leave behind theeso doest thou dares'follow me?
HiddenI put my hand to the walland years of dust came offwhen I took my hand away,revealing the beauty within,a sparkling jewel of color in a world of gray,people hurrying on with their day,their unending, forever flowing, list of things to do,I stood apart from the flood of humanityand reveled in the secret garden I had found,where memories soared like so many beautifulcolorful winged creatures,I opened the door and left the worldof never-ceasing schedules, of stagnantgray pools, pretending to progress, but neverchanging so much like clock-work,I walked down the halls of mysecret garden, brushing free thebeauty of the unpredictable and baskingin the light pouring from thecolors surrounding me,stopping only to chase butterfliesmade of memory, melodiesin flight,until someone opened the doorand caused reality to come and drag me awayand weave me back into the gray tapestry of routine,I await my chance to break freeand run back to my hidden paradise
WishHow she wished for wings of whiteto soar the skyby day or night,she wished to fly
Your EyesWhat are you hidingall locked up, butshowing through your eyesWhat are you trying to saywithout speaking, tryingto show me with those eyesWhat do you seeso far away, yet closer than anyonerealized, internalized watching with soulful eyesWhom are you trying to warncryptically speaking, mutely shrieking to runluring with honeyed words only to be betrayed by...your eyes
The thiefIn darkness sleepinggirl, a predator is creepingtoward his prey, stirringslightly, wrong time to move towards consciousness,predator pauses and smiles alluringeven with his fangs, prey is weepingknowing what comes next, one screambefore slipping into eternal dreams,as roses fade leaving marble or snow,the thief filled with his crimson treasure turns to go,leaving behind a doll, once flesh and blood,to be packed into a box and sent elsewhere.
Strawberry Sun UpEarly morning in AprilEos has not yet graced the world withher presence, yawning widelywhile pulling on faded sundresses,the air is still slightly cool andwe roll down the windows soas to better see the sky turnpink, like the centers of so many strawberries after you have eaten that first bite.Birthday morning in Aprillong drive on dirt roads withtrees all beginning to dontheir spring finery, piling outof the car like hatching chicks, tired, yeteager, ready to race to the strawberryfields, breakfast is picked todaynot from the store, but from under leavesof deep green, tinged gold with the risingsun, buckets are filled, but not beforestomachs are too, sundresses stainedwith pink.