A Canopy of Stars

She woke under a canopy of stars, each one blinking with as much surprise as she. Her hand touched the soft grass beneath her, a breeze caressed her face as it raced across the meadow. She sat up letting her eyes adjust to the dark. The moon was full and the sky clear. She was in a meadow surrounded by trees. It was as if mother nature had built a castle just for her. She heard some rustling now and then as small rabbits or frightened mice moved through the grass.

She looked down at herself and could barely make out a floral house coat. Not a robe but something more substantial. Her hair was dark in the moonlight and her hands seemed so much younger than she remembered. A noise across the meadow made her look up and a large stag broke through the treeline. He was huge and muscular. His crown of bone as long as he was tall. He was magnificent and she felt a tear roll down her cheek.
She stood up slowly. She didn’t want to spook the grand king of this wood. As she did the King moved toward her. He raced quickly from the wood to her in seconds, stopping five feet from her. She saw into his black eyes. They seemed as clear as the purest crystal. She kept still slowly reaching out her hand. To her surprise the King knelt before her and let her touch his proud nose. Her smile was a big as the swelling in her heart as she heard a soft voice somewhere far away.

In the white room the machines beeped and growled. Wires winding across the tiled floor to the single bed. Sitting on the bed was a young girl, no more than seven. She clutched onto a piece of paper that she held up to show the woman lying still beneath her.

“And see Nana. It’s so beautiful here and the King comes to say hi. He is a good King…so gentle. He will let you pat him and you won’t hurt anymore. I love you Nana.”

The girl lay back against the woman, still holding up the picture of a meadow, under stars, with the King standing proud.

What ifs…part one.

If there was a way

to open the doors of time

to shuffle across a dusty floor

kicking up the ashes of memory

turn back the lost days

the hurtful ways

all the cuts that scarred

all the things that marred

in that room of time

could i bring myself

to pull back the curtains

let light shine on the dark

and change my life…

 

 

Backward.

I like to walk backwards through a life less told,

Through rooms that have cobwebs from being so old.

I look over shoulders at days left forgot,

I shake my head slowly at memories for not.

I say good-bye to people easier than most,

Remembering them as you would a ghost.

Some say I have demons that hide in the dark,

I think I show them with an impersonal mark.

I have never been true to people or me,

I prefer to never let anyone see.

The masks I wear I hang in my mind,

Always at hand and easy to find.

For a time I was free and able to share,

Like a child acting out on a dare.

But as dares go they tend to hurt,

And leave you face down in the dirt.

So I walk backwards locking some doors,

Left to die on forgotten shores.

 

Confession of Depression.

I remember back when the world was heavy. The days were so long, riddled with grief and pain. There was a loss, so deep that to fall into it meant falling forever and I fell. The mind raced within a crawl. I didn’t think pain could come from inside. I didn’t think it could hurt for so long. All I wanted was to get it out and I did,

A line of red, dripping down the arm was like watching a favourite movie. Each line seemed to let out the agony. Each cut closer and closer to the hairless wrist below. The mind imagines a sleep deep and dreamless. It imagines a peace that comes with nothing, with nonexistence. To be gone, so easy, like snapping the fingers. As horrible as it sounds, that thought could bring a smile.

Days and days of red lines and dreams of nothing. Waiting for the end, but never following through. That in itself showed a hope, no matter how small. As the scars healed a soul perhaps began to heal too. those close tried to be closer and i pushed them away. Humans are still a species alien to me, but then I just hated them all.

So what changed? My children not laughing at their silly father. My parents out living a son. My own up bringing, stupid Catholics, and in a strange way a human. The mysteries of life coming back to the fallen. The fall ending, not with a thump, but slowing enough to put both feet on the ground. I wear a mask of smiles from time to time, but that is how you fool the dark.

Confession of Depression.

 

 

Window Lady.

Some secrets were best left unsaid. He knew this as he watched her through the slit in the curtain. It was cold out but he was warm as he watched her in her bedroom. He came here most nights, to watch her getting comfortable after a long day at her work.

He was happy she got home when the light was gone, easier to hide in the dark of the yard. He didn’t remember how he had found her. It wasn’t as if he had been looking to become this voyeur, but something caught him, something in her eyes that made him follow her so long ago. He had never spoken to her, he always just watched. He imagined himself in that room sometimes. Imagined having a life with her.

Of course right now he was more focused on her getting ready for bed. She always went to her room 30 minutes after she got home. Just enough time for him to get himself over to the window. She walked into the room still in her black skirt and white blouse. The skirt was one of her favourites, he thought of a life where he had helped pick it out. The blouse was silky and already unbuttoned to her naval. Her bra was white lace, hooked in the front.

God he felt guilty sometimes just watching.As was her routine, she unzipped the skirt from the side, slowly untucking her blouse. The blouse was just long enough to appear as a very short dress as the skirt fell to the floor. She never wore pantyhose or tights, just her bare skin. Now her legs looked as soft as anything he had ever seen and he marvelled at the pale magnificence that stood about 8 feet from him.

Through the glass he saw her stretch, the blouse raising slightly, just enough to see the black panties beneath. He was already excited by this, already feeling himself enjoying the view. Part of it was the thrill, he knew this. What he did was wrong and illegal. It added to the danger. Maybe he should stop while he could, maybe he should just go back to his own wife.

No he couldn’t do that, not while this was always waiting. He stared at her as she finished unbuttoning the blouse. She slowly let it cascade over her shoulders. She turned from him as it fell to the floor revealing her ass in one of her black thongs. She bent over as she stretched, her ass taught and round. He let his own hand fall, as she arched her back seductively.

She straightened out and turned to face the window. He already knew she couldn’t see him, he tested this himself one night. He leaned closer, almost close enough for his breath to fog his side. She reached up to her bra and unhooked the front. Her breasts exposed to him. They were not big, but they were perfect to him. The nipples round and perfectly positioned. She reached up to rub them, relaxing after a day in that bra.

To him she was rubbing them for him. He could feel himself pushing against the material of his track pants. She turned from the window and walked to a door at the other end of the bedroom. She walked in and closed the door. End of the show he guessed. He slowly turned away from the window and quietly headed home.

As he reached the door he still felt himself hard and longing dearly for the window. He opened the door and walked in, hearing his wife move around. So he followed the sound to their room. They had some hard times recently, but he really felt that his window girl had been helping. Hell he was so hard, that was one of the problems. He walked into the room and saw the mess. He wished she would pick up after herself. He reached down and picked up his wife’s black skirt as she opened the door of the bathroom just in black panties.

“Hey hon, long day for me. How was your run.”

“Fuck the run, come over here.”

Yeah the window lady helped.

Old Man.

Sometimes the old stag stood on the mountain, chest puffed up as the rain poured down. His broken antlers shining in the wet. His fur matted to his skin. He had earned every scar and every scratch. He still looked powerful even with his age. So many battles won, now just a distant scent on the wind.

If deer could feel, he felt his age. His shoulders  burned, his knee joints ached. He had struggled to climb so high, but this was his mountain, his ground to guard and as the rain fell on the old stag his knees buckled. He fell to the ground, the fast beating heart quickened slightly and then began to slow. He rolled onto his side, looking up at the dark clouds.

If deer could feel he would have been scared, or maybe he was reflecting on his many children. He helped populate the mountain and the forest below.

If a deer could smile, perhaps that old stag would be smiling as his heart slowed and the rain poured down and his heart stopped, but the rain kept coming unable to wash the scent of life off the mountain.

Slide

You slip into the long slide
Being buffetted from side to side
The sharp sting of memories
Still sharp enough to hurt.
It’s a long way down
Caught up on the long slide
Where it moves too fast to hide
From your own old ghosts.
If you survive the long slide
You come out  without a sound
Wiping yourself down
Getting rid of the thoughtful grime.
Walk away from the slide
Forget the visions on the painful ride
Climb the ladder that’s still so high
That’s a new slide for you to try