The river flows dark and cold
memories dance
down this viscous highway
sparkling eyes of a young girl
dreaming of her lover
across on the other shore
a lone bell rings
echoing across the valley
reminding her of loss
the river flows deep and muddy
where bones lie quiet
and catfish roam
Her body is my field
where I can land my heart
snug into the hanger
where I am kept warm
safe from the storms
that thrash upon us
seeking to break our will
Her eyes were dark onyx
a sepulcher
I treaded into blindly
caught in the web she spun
on her golden spindle
consuming from the inside
creating a dry socket
filling it with cotton candy
There are a thousand stories to be told before they are lost in the wind. Each story contains a glimmer of the true self, the one hidden by the scars accrued over a lifetime. The bitterness that comes from a lost love, lost dreams, lost desire, the losses we wear to cover our hearts true nature. In the early hours, before the sun has risen and the world is quiet, if we take a moment to sit in silence we may hear that small voice calling us to strip away those layers, to lay naked once again before God.
Iridescent waves
frothing over rocks
break upon the shore
wind singeing color
on our faces
the sky
a bright cadmium yellow
washing away
the miasmas
of the night
a beacon shines
a siren call to home
I have watched her grow
a confident young woman
my sweet sixteen girl
Satin sheets
lace curtains
soft breeze
across bodies
goose pimples
rise
on naked skin
heated
afternoons
drowning
in memories
that arise
with every breath
