Soup and Sunshine

She imagined she could melt--
A soup of steam and soap
seasoned with human inadequacy.

She dreamed that the worries
Would swirl around her fingers and evaporate to air,
Floating to an unknown location in the atmosphere.

She wished the carelessness tumbling freely from their lips
wouldn't store itself for later
In her worn and wearied mind.

She wanted to sink in all her sorrows,
But her will kept her buoyant--
A boat tossed on stormy seas.

She--a recipient of surprising, sudden slaps--desired peace,
A place of genuine understanding,
But she feared that wouldn't come for quite some time.

She pondered breathing, life, and blinking,
for so much had passed before her blinded eyes
As her breath was stolen without notice.

She determined somewhere hiding she was happy--
A free flower now dry from drowning rains.
And she waited, for a long while, for that feeling to surface.

She tried seeing further,
And her sight was magnified--
A telescope set on distant lands and waters.

She imagined she would sail there,
And the sun would shine forever
Giving life to her dead hope--
A melting soul in imaginary soup.

Fading Female

She sat in that secluded tower and withered away.
The night wind rustled her hair
And she looked as if she'd fall to pieces.

As the days aged and the moons waxed and waned
Her eyes dulled in the starlight,
Dimming more with each passing night.

She was a droplet clear and hanging,
Waiting for that final, fatal plunge
To darkness untouched by light or rain.

Her fingers weathered in the sun
And a fear forced frown adorned her face.
The ivy 'round her ankles kept her stranded there forever.

But on an evening red 'fore twilight
Did a traveler spot her window--
An ancient, cracked painting in the wood.

He did step and pause to wonder
At that woman soaked in colors
When she took a labored breath as night did fall.

The colors then did pour,
Spreading out around the wood,
Glorious greens, reds and yellows did he see.

Her finger twitched, a final flutter
Of her life once wrought with color
That she seemed to have lost sight of long ago.

He looked at her--Her eyes then closing.
And he couldn't help but ponder,
Who it was that let this woman die
In the first of winter's snow.

Air and Strangers

In every season the air changes,
Sailing on as time goes by.
The storms will shake and leaves will rustle;
Winds shall twist and tilt the mind.
What is constant is that feeling--
Love to quiet weather's roar.
And although it may seem sparing
It is always deep inside.
The outer world is still revolving,
But at times you must stand still.
Take in all the seasons' changes
And that love will soothe your soul.
It's not always from within you,
A passerby may feel your plight.
And that same stranger that you share with
Will love you as yourself...cannot.

A Bird in a Crowd

The bird perched on a wire is lonely.

Other wings may turn the sky to dusk,

But the lack of conscience on their part astounds

The bright little bluebird.

She calls out in the chaos

Of those feathered structures flapping,

But her voice is always muffled

By the constant drum of artificial twilight.

She'll never call out louder,

For fear of shrieking finches

And her wings she'll never rustle

As she might steal someone's wind.

She sits quietly on occasion

Except when joined by one small sparrow

Who seems to understand her mind.

One day though, she'll fly away

To distant high-rise perches

On which she'll wait contently

For the calming of dark wings.  

Throwing Petals

Sometimes I throw

petals to the wind.

I expect them to dwindle there--

To dance in the astral sky,

But they rarely do.

I turn my back and flee

When I run from floating petals,

But the breezes bring them closer.

They whip about my face

Painting dark and dreary scenes

With wisps of wondrous hues.

Why I ever toss them wayward

I will never truly know.

Their presence is perfection

And their absence loss of heart.

Quite often they besiege me

When my mind is filled with wonder.

Perhaps one day I won't mind--

They'll encompass me forever.

Maybe they'll sail onward

On a clear and pulsing current,

But I fear their bright existence

For it marks the end of mine.

An Outpour of Butterflies

Flocks of feeling come to sit

On my lips that speak your name.

Flying round and circling--

A stomach full of knots.

When those wings begin to flutter

A heart racing does not stop.

As that simple feat of speech

Dares to pass beyond my lips,

Latches break and color pours

From those thin and fragile wings.

Contorting to my wishes

They do flow and lightly dance.

A mosaic filled with motion,

Frames my effervescent awe.

But somehow you still stay there

As I stand in swarms of beauty.

Wings a pounding, ever loud,

I hear nothing but their beating.

But I smile at their existence

And I breathe in scents of wonder.

Something causes me to ponder,

Do you see the same thing too?

Blades of Green

Chilly dew frosts the green blades of grass,

Silent in the wind that once ripped them from the roots.

The icy shell plants them there eternally.

The sun shines, but they won't be thawed til' noontime.

They'll be stepped upon by each passerby

With a final crunch of submission.

But with each dirty sole

Squashing, trampling, and kicking the blades,

One by one the crystals melt away.

A wash of green and mud covers solid ground

And a few, weak blades are carried with the soles.

The wind strikes the sky and grass whips and withers.

No prisoner to ice, but a victim to the breeze.