I call the beyond
the feather light side
I have seen it
held hands with my guardian there
and my Father as I walked
through a vivid garden
in silent paradise
It is so peaceful there
just a lightness of being
I can't help but think that life
this side of the cobwebbed door
is similar to a falling leaf
surrendered in autumn's change
A constant reminder
that we all fall
I tire of welcoming the hours
to get through another day
I am homesick
The feather light side
I call it
It is so peaceful there
I never wanted to leave
least to be here again
I'll close my eyes
And just drift away.
Maybe sometime soon,
You'll be here to stay.
I know it takes time.
Darling, that's okay.
I'll be by your side.
Just don't fade away.
You're scared, I can see.
Everyone around worries you.
Please realize that there is no need
For you to be afraid of me.
You can take my hand,
I'll show you the way.
I won't misguide you,
Or lead you astray.
I won't hurt you,
Or leave any scars.
You can stay by my side,
Like the moon and the stars.
I won't say that I love you.
For that, it's a bit too soon,
But darling, believe me when I say
That I truly care about you.
I'll open my eyes,
You're not by my side.
I'll just drift back off,
Then I can hide.
never strange enough i imagined
that some of my beloved friends,
who I so faithfully adore and admire..
are coequal participants of my life
with those dead poets, singers and writers
who left trace in my heart
and helped me to survive through weird times
thats what i clearly imagined
and i had imagined it for quite long index of time..
i thought when we talk with eachother
there is always invisible presence
of those dead evergreen souls acompannies us
the life served me contrar perspective
what a folly i only was
to think that my dear feelows-artists
have ever deserved my such gentle & sincere treat
like they were as tall as nervous souls like
antonin artaud, camille claudel or arthur rimbaud...
yeah, alas, i brutally failed..
if i look exactlier who is here for me
then the dreary fact reveals
to my deepest mourn
the tragic fact reveals
those dead poets are actually the lone living souls,
while my dear living friends are perfectly dead
I fall, helplessly into the meadow. The tall grasses embrace me with their long fingers. The soft yellow bells droop down onto my cheeks. They cover me in their sweet scent, and the warm butter sun melts onto my face. I push myself up with my arms to gaze at the sanctuary around me. A gentle breeze wisps in circles around my head. Several stray strands of hair dance on my cheeks, and catch in my eyelashes. I pull the tangles away from my face, and stand up. I am surrounded in a barrier of ancient willows and maples. They seem misplaced here, old, wrinkled, and sagging. For the rest of the meadow is a swaying sea of oddly touchable pastel flowers. I bring my hands up to my head, and touch my hair. The light is warming my agave colored hair. I step forward, and laugh melodically at the feeling beneath my feet. The soil is welcoming, and the long tentacles of the green grass tickle my toes. I realize when I look down, that my feet are bare. I forget what happened to my sandals. In a flash, the thought of how I arrived here passes through my mind. And then it’s gone.
The grass whispers and brushes, rustling a delicate sound. But apart from that, there is only one sound. Somewhere distant, somewhere unknown, my ear catches the music of my childhood. Ocean waves, pulsing against the earth. Suddenly, a current of air snags the light fabric of my dress. And with that current, like a child’s kite, I am picked up from my feet. I can feel an indescribable sensation in my stomach. It flutters like the butterflies that float around me. My feet pedal like on a bicycle, and I roll around in the magic that lifts me. My laughter rings in the sanctuary as I drift higher, up into the sky. Beyond the wall of trees, I can hardly distinguish the features of the land. Pillowy clouds lie low, and random branches from the trees sometimes peak out the tops. The horizon erupts in a splash of rose pink, mango, and turquoise. A pure, innocent beauty.
The ecstasy is abruptly interrupted. I look beneath me, and I am painfully, suddenly aware that I am floating, high above the ground beneath me. The spell is broken. My body drops, plummeting down, fast. I scrunch my eyes shut, and brace for the hit. But there is none. I cautiously open my eyes and realize I am mere inches above the ground, suspended in the current. I reach my fingers down, to kiss the earth with my fingertips. My legs and waist elegantly lower with the rest of me to the ground. I turn over onto my knees, breathing rigidly, attempting to regain my composure.
Where am I? This world, I am found in, is curious. I doubt this reality. One cannot simply escape from the world! With great doubt, I raise up my hand to cup the daffodil in my palm in front of me. It never falls into my palm. Instead, the petals begin to grain, and distort. And in a matter of seconds, it simply vanishes. In confusion, I look to the sky, and watch as the vibrant blue fades to a wan purple and cracks, like the shell of an egg.
“This can’t be real-“ I mutter to myself. The long branches of the willows evaporate their leaves, and like skeletons and bones, dry up as if submerged in acid. I stand up, and spin, desperately looking for a part of this world. Something, still alive, something animate. I twist and turn in desperation, the world around me smearing into nothing.
My breathing is rapid, and uneven. I lift my face from my pillow. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my hair sticks to my neck. I look down, still in pajamas. Lying in my bed.
I am baffled. Was this a nightmare? No. Not quite. But, was it? I scoff at my ridiculousness. Of course it wasn’t real. What am I thinking? I sigh, and lie my head back down to my pillow, and turn my head to the window. ‘Sleep again, it wasn’t real’, I tell myself. But, just as I start to shut my eyes, something catches my eye. Despite the impenetrable darkness that lurks in my bedroom, I spot something soft and yellow. Set atop my rug, lies the same delicate, yellow daffodil, waiting for me to cup it gently in my palm.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5860#sthash.AZ9GFLye.dpuf
She struggles to bring
the pen to the page
she wants to tattoo the
page with their story.
She is skeptical
why does she want to
live in the past?
That's what it
will be tomorrow.
create her to be stuck
wanting to believe her
Lets cling to the unknowing
and love the ignorance
there is no hurting if
you have no one.
That's the only
truth that holds true.
All those words we shared,
funny how now they mean
Forever is just a fairytale
to keep you reading until the
last page is found
a blank white canvas;
no prince charming ending.
Yet she still
lets it burn into her pages.
She wants an impossible