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anne p murray Apr 2013
Your image appears through a purple-hued haze of silence…
weaving its whispered dreamy spell, while you re-connect the strings of my sleeping heart
You go about ******* my soul as I watch your image drift in my celibate reality
I hear the melody play it lonely tune ~ but, it is absent of the warmth of touch
For its only your image I see, my heart's held hostage by the cry of the songbird

My unknown lover, kidnapped by the makers of dreams and fantasies
experiencing the uncertainty of the child that lies sleeping deep within
Alone, with the clever artists of dreams and visions encountering the forever of my loneliness
brushing off the blurred images with softly painted hues of repeated memories
designed by the masters of dreams and schemes, sleeping to be hugged ~ dreaming to be loved

Oh yes... I've dealt with kings, queens and dragonflies
in the dancing reverie of the fragments of my reality,
gliding in and out of the dust of Heaven's stars
sprinkling me with their sweet purple dreams gliding over shimmering evening skies

In lavender scented breezes, I make my way through the night's crimson threshold
in starlit dreams that melt across ancient seasons
shimmering purple shades of shadows painted in serene,  pastoral Botticelli scenes

I sleep in soft billowy clouds, spreading my wings in God's peaceful heavens
my journey - painted in purple pastel colors of love...
peering through misty clouds and diamond stars by His Divine presence from up above

They make their nightly visits into my fantasies, my thoughts
painted by the makers and weavers of dreams, coming out of their secret, hidden places...
they silently reveal their amethyst, painted masterpieces
lightly kissed in dewy, lavender scented bliss
My Botticelli dreams...softly swaddled in dream woven swathes of purple calico...
and you

The sweetness of long remembered thoughts tickles my memories in delicate ambrosial perfume...
redolent of lilac scented blossoms- each flower's fragrant sphere, lingering sweetly in the air
Ancestral shades drift in and out of what was... what might still be
singing their lavender effulgent melodies in lovely violet shades
through soft, flowing wisps of dreams, lingering in meadows of glowing moonlight...
and you

Your sweet scent, so succulent in lilac memories urging your return
they delicately float across my dreaming heart waiting so patiently for your sweet scented whispers
to wrap seductive chiffon fingers around my sleeping soul on Morpheus' silky crimson screens
across the evening's deep indigo blue horizon

Between the cracks of earth and sky I succumb with on soaring wings toward your biding arms
catching falling stars in the mist of twilight whispers, where scarlet lilacs are sprinkled...
dreaming together of the end of our days
until your sweet love finds me neath’ the evening's indigo, starry art
painted in Botticelli dreams of purple calico...the delicate lavender wings of dragonflies ...
and you
anne p murray Apr 2013
They only come at midnight
from down deep in the ocean of the dark, coral sea
They come from The kingdom of the unicorns
reborn From the ancient land of Atlantis
their spirits running wild and free

Coats shining white in the pale moonlight
Such magnificent, elegant beauty to behold
Silver horns glittering bright
as they dance playfully on the waves
Such a magical, mysterious story to be told

Their flowing manes woven with gleaming stars
they come from the heart of that ancient land
Enchanted Atlantis, sacred mystery
“ Someday, when your world is ready"
you can hear the words echo...
mysteriously across the golden sands

Under the glowing, midnight moon
with their spiral horns pointing to the heavens above
Water glistening on diamond, starred manes
they playfully emerge from the sea
beautiful eyes that stare straight into your soul
Those dear, noble unicorns
filled with innocence, beauty and love

They are Guardians of the midnight sea
these mystical creatures of lore
their ancient, legendary mystery enchants
these unearthly creatures of ethereal beauty
A mystical legend that longs to be told
of the mysterious, magical unicorns…
we all... so magially adore
anne p murray Apr 2013
You reached down your hand to rescue my heart with your tender, soft caress
in the glistening white lilac shadows of a silver Celestial embrace...
painting my soul in the perfection of Heaven’s finest grace

The quiet melody of nostalgic thoughts...
in lovely, lucid shades of a once visited history
paint my heart etched across the lapis hues of rainbows in once treasured days

My enchanted memories floating in a sea of hazy dreams
sent down on shiny, fragile wings woven in wisps and slips of silk and gold
I shall be his abiding angel ...
who awaits in the night to kiss his waiting brow in Heaven's glorious light love
from thy grave to our heart's spirits - to be joined together in each memory...
I carry on my journey to once again be with thee

Those enraptured memories rain down in captured, misty thoughts...
glowing brightly in this perfect dream of you and me upon the ancient seas of time ~
drifting like sapphire, satin stairways on sleepy tides of aromatic bliss...
you - my flawless perfection
anne p murray Apr 2013
I am left with the shadows of your memories ~ the whispers of our past
In subtle shades of grey they weave their sad, silent song in places where you no longer belong

The journal of our memories have weakened and yellowed with age
from tears that fell upon each forgotten page
A story created with a weak, wilted love that ended all too soon

Our walk took a different turn on a lonely, craggy road
when you sold your soul to that other world for a few nickels and dimes
Your love was like a dying ember ~ never a burning fire...
with ashes of regret that fill my days

The words of love's passion you never knew ~ never learned
The taste of true devotion you could not embrace
leaving my poor heart jaundiced, so unsatisfied ~  so in need of healing and truth  

It left my spirit feeling like dried, desiccated clay on the desert’s hot dehydrated floor
with my soul seeping into the hard baked earth in layers of wretchedness...
layers that will remain even after, scarring my soul
leaving my weakened spirit wanting to pull down it’s shade

Forgotten - left alone, like a candle in the wind…
like a lonely feather with love bleeding from it's quill ~
fluttering aimlessly in the breeze

By anne p murray 4/2013 ~ladeeanne
anne p murray Apr 2013
Ever since I was a little girl, I yearned to be good at something,  anything, but I never quite knew how to go about it. I was never shown  by my parents that I was worthwhile.

There is something I need to share, I was alive and that is about all that there is to say about it. At  least that's something huh? I guess one could say with a weakened  voice, 'perhaps it was better than nothing'??

I sit here in  my writing room and I begin to write on this piece of paper (my computer is my paper now) something seems to be in need of writing, my thoughts  are circling within me. I want to write them all down.

I have felt this  way before, especially when I was in love and wanted to put things down on paper, so they wouldn't be lost and forgotten. There is this sort  of hush in the air and the stirrings feel like a gentle breeze coming over me. Like silent leaves falling. It seems strange that I notice  these things. It's as if they have special meaning for me.

Many afternoons I would sit wondering what would become of me. Would I turn  into an old woman in an old wrapper dress with curlers in my hair? But I tell myself this saying “The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave  only once”. I knew I had to give up the feelings that people didn’t like me. I must! I had to **** my fear of people and life, before it killed  me.

“The world is a world into which you were meant to be  in”. I heard this soft, quiet voice say to me. It was if I was speaking to an invisible child, very strange, yet beautiful.  I wanted to be soft; yet brave. To be a part of the sacred, beautiful things in life. To glisten with imagination. To see the beauty in a wild deer. To learn  of all the ancient ways of life. To learn the feelings of safety; of constant love, so I wouldn't feel like I’m in a boat on dark rivers without a paddle.  To be able to see the magic of animals carrying  their tiny young in a forest. scented land. Silent, yet so alive,  sitting in the underbrush looking out at the moon and stars.

There is a part of me that wanted to be wild too, like the animals protecting their young. Something so tender, yet untamed.  But really, I know that wild animals are also helpless too, just like I was as a child, like we all are as children; so dependent on others for love and care.

I  didn't want to remain like that scared child. I wanted to be a lady warrior, glistening with love and life shining down upon me. To be able to soar on wings of an eagle... brave and free. To be able to see the world as a beautiful place, but still know of its dangers without feeling  like I couldn't navigate in a storm.

These secrets I kept within myself; hanging onto them like a leaf that hangs in a tree. It  seems possible to me that perhaps all people at some time feel this way. You can tell by looking at some people that the world remains like a stone to them, with closed doors. I wanted to be an open door; a flower, not a stone. I was afraid it would not be like that for me. Perhaps  after my child self would grow old, then everything would harden and  become small; like my small, closed, childhood doors. Like it was back then.

So I'm thinking that perhaps I would have a hard time remembering  all these things. I wanted to write about them, so my life could still show and have moments of wonder.

I've been sitting here, listening to a  livening seed within me. A slightly, fermenting seed that still wants to be alive. Alive with its own movements and filled with wonder. Like an  orchard blooming, with each new blossom different and alive with energy.

Why should I feel this excitement as an older, grown woman now? Yet I can still be excited. My orchard wants to bloom soundlessly into a fruitful  tree. I don't want it all to go away from me. My light will someday be falling upon darkness and there will come a time when the doors will not open again. The sprouting of new blossoms will cease and the movements  and wonderous openings will be gone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WOW...when did this happen? I have now become that older women in the old, wrapper dress, so I try to write my thoughts down on slips of paper. Trying to  preserve this time for myself, so that afterwards when everything is  gone, I can remember who and what I really was, who I became.

There is a time in the spring of our lives when we shine. When we bear new, live fruit every day. There is also the time in our lives when autumn comes and our leaves begin to fall. But we can still be jewels in this  world.

So I say to myself;  "Lie in the sun with the child playing in your heart shining like a jewel. "Dream and sing, you pagan", I say to myself. Be wise in  your vitals. Stand still like a fat blossoming tree. Rise up like a stalk of corn throbbing, glistening green and yellow in the heat. Lie down like a mare, watching her baby colt's dancing feet as they learn how to stand up on their new, awkward legs. Sleep peacefully at night, knowing earth will bring new blossoms to its bounty. Walk delicately, yet strong as a wheat stalk, at its full time... bending towards the earth waiting for the farmer to reap his effort of plantings. Let your life swell upwards toward the sky so you become like a vase, an open vessel. Let the child within you rise like a dolphin swimming within your heart."

I look at myself in the mirror now. My legs a bit heavier. My face with a few more wrinkles then yesterday.My hips are fuller and my stomach is not as flat as it used to be. Some days I look older then tomorrow's sunset and some days I shine a little bit brighter, like today’s sunrise. It’s all part of nature’s plan. (sigh)

Children are playing outside and girls are walking with young men in the town square. All that doesn't seem so far away in my memories, yet those times are over for me. I am like that leaf hanging onto the tree, but  the seed is still alive within.

I walk a little slower now. I hate the feel of clothes against my skin, I want to leave them off, but the sight of me naked isn’t as pretty as it used to be. Yes, I have  ripened into an older age of life. It's hard to write it all down.  Sometimes denial is precious, but so unreal.

I once knew how it felt  to be a woman who was going to have a child, it's like how a tree feels  when its about to bear its fruit.

Now, my leaves hang from my tree, some of them have fallen, some are ready to fall. I put my hand upon my fallen leaves, their soft surface still surprises me. I can  still feel my tree of life swirling with sap. Sap that's still alive, with  rich roots still surging their power in me, wanting to break through  into another new life.

I walk the streets of my life alone  with the buds of my childhood left behind. And even though I walk alone  under the dark, umbrella of trees, there are many lights shining down on me. There is a hunger and a deep rebellion to march forward. My tree comes  from a far seed, still bending in the wind. My child to, comes from a  far seed blowing across the plains of time in a faraway place.

My inner child's still budding secretly from within, bidding me to carry on. Although, it is much quieter now. The movement of my tree I can still feel, still hear. Its delicate sounds of living moves gracefully within  myself…silently reaching upward.

My leaves twirl and swirl, delicately falling to the ground. My tree within it's roots in an gentle, swaying breeze, moving slowly it's stem of life. Like a stream, clear and strong flowing into the ground.

My trunk may be unseen to some, but it’s spiraling upwards in powerful energy, it's just moving up in a slower motion now. It’s stems twirling fragilely, until they fall once and for all, to be  reconnected with the Universe in all its splendor.

It's a far  more gentle breeze that speaks to my tree now, and as I sit here in the afternoon sun of my life, it seems a very, very strange thing that a tree might come to mean more to one than any of my husbands did. It seems a bit of an embarrassing to acknowledge... but it is so true.

Now as I sit here in my paler, pastel sun, my tree speaks to me with its words of comfort; with its many  soft, fallen leaves of wisdom...speaking to and through the heart of my soul. I finally learned to listen; to listen to the whisperings of my tree speaking to me from within.

How can I describe what I feel is being said by my tree? It speaks to me of love, sharing, kindness and wisdom; of acceptance and self-worth. None of my three husbands really spoke things of that nature to me. None of them spoke to my heart like my tree does.  

There is a much wiser woman in me now, I can hear her breathing. She speaks to me with kindness, acceptance and wisdom. She looks me thru' the mirrors of my soul and says. "I  hear you're going to have a new child, don't worry she will be the same color as the blossoms and the green leaves you once used to bear, she is still playing in the park. She is still alive, waiting to blossom once again.”  

I am writing this on a piece of paper now (like I said, my computer is my paper now). I have walked through my heart and spirit with substantially heavy boots. Large, heavy boots... with my tree bent over and with my leaves falling over into my soul. The light still shines in my eyes with misty expectations.

I sit in my room watching the trees from my window. They are standing,  yet bending willowy and gracefully with the breeze. Some of its leaves have curled,  but its trunk stands steady in the earth, like a stream flowing  smoothly, with a few rumbles of current here and there. So I say, let our trees blossom and spread their roots all over our hearts and souls, now and forever more.
anne p murray Apr 2013
I had this fantasy in my dream
I thought I was awake and you were actually tangible
A man any woman would want to have
You were a man that made me his priority
No matter what…
You would always be there
Someone I could count on
You were my rock
You acknowledged my needs, my strengths
Biggest of all, you paid attention to me…

In my dream, you were a mature man, strong and dependable
So loving, unselfish, so giving
You were not self absorbed, stubborn and arrogant
You were actually the person I thought you were in the beginning

All the things you were not in real life
And though I’ve spent more time fantasizing about you
Then being with you
Thank you for allowing me
To indulge myself in this fantasy of you

The most important part of this dream was...
I would have given back to you
More than you could have ever expected
My unconditional love, my admiration and respect
All the support and encouragement
That you would have ever dreamed possible...
Had your heart muscle been fully engaged

It was nice to get your letter last month...
And, that you actually thought of me on that day
I did answer back…immediately, but again, I was ignored
Vainly you seek yourself, searching for others still
Even though we really had no beginning...
There was an end

And as Rhett Butler would softly say;
“Frankly, my dear I don’t give a ****'...
NOT anymore
anne p murray Apr 2013
Images slip thru’ my heart ~ my mind
My soul quakes with fleeting memories ~ my thoughts
The subtleness of a breeze ~ the whiff of a familiar scent
can set my heart and soul into spasms of delight ~  
or heart wrenching, aching sadness

A home once filled with our love ~ with our memories
Have all been emptied ~ thoughts wiped away
Tears once shared ~ dried, but not gone ... no never gone

Feeling lost in the why’s, what’s, how’s ~ the maybe’s
Frightened to start a new romance
Fearful to take another chance
Déjà vu  reminds  me I’ve walked this road too many times
Too many years

I feel lost when the skies rain their shiny tears  
The thunder rumbles its voice
And yet~
It’s not so new - this feeling…
Of losing you…
~~~~~ and you, and you, and you ~~~~~
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