Whispering Wind

I like to listen
  when the wind talks
             because I feel
            that secrets
         are carried
               in the breeze
but sometimes
   it’s too hard to hear
       with all the madness
              surrounding
           the day.
Send your wishes
           into the sunshine
                 on the tail off
     a warm,
         eastbound breeze
I will put
     my ear to the skies
               and send a sign
            if your words
                     capture me.

War Within

My body
is waging
a war
fought
in hormones
and tears.
Please make it stop.


(January 26, 2012)

Paper Cranes

A thousand paper cranes
   flew through my dreams last night.

Words,
   fervently scripted,
      on delicate washi sheets
         inscribed in ebony,
      (ink darker than the midnight sky)
         and folded,
            carefully,
      by the tiny hands of the unknown
         then thrown,
            into the atmosphere,
               like heartfelt messages tossed to sea.

They carried with them
   hushed secrets
      of forlorn lovers
         separated
            by miles
               or circumstance,
   wishes,
      whispered into their wings,
         by children,
            that dare to dream
               and to create
                  fairy tales,
                     in their minds,
   and wisdom,
      of those that have carried
         the tremendous weight
            of knowledge
               on their shoulders
                  across this vast earth.

They beckoned to me,
   like paper lanterns,
      glowing in the wind,
         to reach out and gather
            their delicately crafted bodies
         and unfold
            that which was cast to the breeze,
               in hopes,
                  of being harnessed
                     by the universe.

I closed my eyes
   and wished,
      upon all the stars in the heavens,
         that I may
            reach out and cage
               the bird inscribed by only you.

I longed to hear it sing
   the loving notes
      of your sweet lullaby to me.
Your words,
   written on it’s wings.
I want to tattoo my skin
   in a million words of love,
      (your words)
         (your love)
            and bleed only ink.

But when I reached for them,
   they came to life
      and flew,
         towards the horizon
            on paper wings
               powered,
                  by the lungs of creation.

(January 20, 2012)

Moonlit Echoes

There are moments
   when time seems to linger 
   on hushed words 
   and secrets whispered 
   in the still of the dark night. 
When shadows seem alive 
   with movement and brittle 
   with the aching of bones 
   from the dampness of dusk. 
When moonlight casts spells 
   upon everything within reach 
   of her long willowy fingers 
   and cool glowing embrace. 
The myriad of echoes ringing 
   after nightfall, speak volumes 
   for the magic of the hours 
   yet still cease to tell all 
   of the wonders that befall.


(January 13, 2012)

Unseasonable December

The rain has washed
   away the sun
   and drowned the joy from coming home.
The skies are dark
   and clouds march in
   wearing heavily treaded boots to stay.
The snow, it tries
   to show it’s face
   but the unseasonable warmth chases it away.
Birds sing melodies
   confusion on wings
   their usual southern route forgotten.
Mother nature fights
   against changes in routine
   there is a war going on outside my window.
December,
   where are the frozen joys
   that you always bring?


(January 13, 2012)

The Universe Holds Truth

Truth.
     What is that, really?

We each hold a version of reality,
     our own reality,
          so close to us.

Held so tight
     against our breastbone
          that anything else might
               sound like a falsity.

Our own story…
     where we have been,
          what battles we have fought,
               what wounds we carry within,
                    and what scars cover our skin.

The rest,
     is truly left,
          for the universe to hold.

To hang on it’s fingers
     hold tight in it’s grasp
          woven with threads
               of angst from our plight.

Held against our own reality
     a comparison in view
          we may see the light
               we may just see the truth.

(December 28, 2011)

Sunset

Nature’s breath carries

secrets of Mother Earth’s soul.

Auras dance at dusk.

(December 23, 2011)