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.

Circle

Little circles

turning round my head

like wheels spinning

like a line reread

clicking and clacking

ticking and tocking

overwhelming

yet comforting

a race never-ending

a space never filling

circle, circle, circle

dizzying in its

repetition

like a roundabout

hold on tight

or let gravity

have its part

turn, turn, turn

painted smiles

spiral down my face

laughter

hidden in that disgrace

STOP

and no more circles

just straight lines

give me a push

I’ll take the spin

a line is just a line

but a circle leaves a grin.

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.

 

Slip Away.

I held her hand,

this woman I knew,

I held her hand,

For a minute or two.

I shed a tear,

as she closed her eyes,

I shed a tear,

as love dies.

I wasn’t there,

I was in the past,

perhaps unfair.

Remembering her smile,

she was slipping away,

all the while,

I had nothing to say.

without pain,

without heart break,

without life,

no smiles to fake.

and i wished.

with nothing to do.

I so wished.

I could go too.

 

 

Heart and Wing

Tall stands the heart of cold

the agent of despair

the owner of souls

never meant for him.

Ever watchful is the bird

with wings spread wide

eyes all-knowing

all manner of sin.

The heart and the bird

in a dance of forever

one waiting to steal

the other wanting to save.

In the shadow and light

with fist and wing

each wanting the end

with the roads each paves.

And above the dance

is a god still sleeping

lost in a slumber

seeing with no eyes.

The heart likes the slumber

The bird wants him roused

and the world cries out

before the day dies.