The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

In a dream,
Or a nightmare,
Everything seems            out           of                           place.
Things start out right,
And then,
                                    You’re dropped into an ocean.
               You’re naked and drowning,
          Sleeping and awake.
        Slipping away into a panic,
     Floating on a wave of  d i s c o n n e c t.
Grasping for anything,
     You hold on to thin air.
Feeling good with just that,
                                     The darkness grabs your s
                                                               ­                          e
                                     ­                                                     n
                                                               ­                             s
                                                               ­                              e
                                 ­                                                              s.
­Gaining visual on your position,
You swim a short mile.
      Lost with no vision,
You look outside yourself a while.
Your view from up above,
     The ocean seemed to move.
      God knows how long it has been
Below,
       The water blackens.
               You lose faith,    
                                                                ­    The darkness wins again.

©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis

She hears tick tock, tick tock within her head.
Tick tock, tick tock the gears turn and grind as the clock work falls in line within her mind.
The time is rushing within her thoughts too fast for her to stop.
Soon she will wind down and will not tick or tock.
The clockwork girl will have no more thoughts, time runs short for her well-oiled clock.
Goodbye my lovely clockwork girl tick tock, tick tock, tick tock!

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Sometimes the balance is best served by removing the most insignificant weights from the scales of your life! In trying to put your life back together you may break your world into a thousand pieces, if you have that power, resist using it. It will not matter who or what tries to undo what you have done, only you can fix your life, if not in this world, then in the next. The balance in your life will be swift and served!

It was a cold and bitter wind and it blew and blew. It blew through the trees and the little town too.
It blew past the houses where the children were sleeping. It blew through the key holes where peepers are peeping.
It blew down the streets that were shrouded in slumber, rattled the roofs right down to their lumber!