You dip your toes into this glass still pond
so steadily, and yet I know your heart is racing.
I see the flicker of panic in your eyes, and the
tugging desire you have to jump in.
I see it there in the strain of your well formed muscles
and the quick rise and fall of your chest.
It's so quiet here, isn't it?
In this wet mirror where you see such a peaceful vision
of the way things are, and you don't want to
stir and ripple, to see what will be.
I know your kind, and I know the way you fear
and the way you consume.
You will eat up this stillness until chaos blooms
from these reeds and crickets and warm scents.
You want the summer I hold,
it lives in the way I kiss and hold and smile.
Come here and sit by me.
Hold my hand and listen to the sun sing on your skin
and feel the warm breezes on your face.
Everything will be alright.
Just stay.

My mind is high up somewhere today.
In these clouds maybe, too far for me to reach.
It leaves me dizzy, desirous...
I feel so sleepy.  
I crave sleep,
for a deep, still pool of rest,
in the arms of love.
To feel protected and safe.
I want to be guarded like a vast treasure.
Where is my knight, the one where I see my reflection in
his armor, where I see burning eyes and burning hands that
love throughout the night...
Where's someone to always be there?

And I know.
Believe me, I know.

I should look inside myself for these things,
create my own light for this
dark place inside of me.
But I don't want to become The Hermit,
and carry this flickering lantern in the dubious storm of myself,
where there's snow and sleet and
bone shattering winds, forever to wander alone.

I want to find my puzzle piece, my chemical solution.
There must be a cure to this plague of loneliness.
Someone to be the balm that eases the pain
and whispers...
"No more, no more.
You are safe here, with me."


(c) May 21, 2013

I'm from colored lights,
and christmas parties,  
and brownies.
I'm from laughter
and play.

I'm from paint,
paint brushes,
and old movies.
Black and white
snapshots dance their way
across all my mirrors.

I'm from rag-dolls, glittery, glitchy,
printed words.
I'm from just too many songs.

I'm from a thousand
blue glass bottles
and rubber gloved hands.
I'm from movement.
Move with me.

So far down the rabbit hole...
No way back
No drinks to make me smaller
No cakes to make me larger
No white rabbit to lead the way
No knight in armor to defend the day
Just darkness and an "Off with her head!"
The cards have been shuffled,
now play the hand you've been dealt.

The heart is a machine.
It has valves and pumps, little tubes and wires.
It pushes life roughly through my veins, scraping by along my insides,
too full of something barely contained.
And I feel it yelling at me constantly, a day to day screech in my chest.
"You must carry on! You must feed me oxygen and suffer while I beat the life into you!"
What cruel joke is this?
This machine betrays me so.
It betrayed me to you.
It sold me out, all my secrets and desires barefaced in your hands.
And all for a smile. And then a laugh. And then a kiss.
That kiss was the end of me.
I dared it to go, I told it
"Once you go down that road, don't you dare come back."
It never did.
I've been without my machine for quite sometime now.
It ran headlong into your arms and I have no thought of how to coax it back.
Every day I struggle with these invisible strings,
tugging as I walk to my classes,
tugging as I stumble up stairs
and say hello to people I know.
I'm fighting you. I'm tired of fighting you.
I just want my turn.
Let me fall in your arms.
Let me have you.

The Past looks right at me,
with those big, glass eyes that
sparkle even when it's dark out.
They are all-knowing eyes, and they
see through time and space.
The Past touches my high-***** cheek and whispers so
sweetly, calling me to innocent, bright springs
and free, young summers where I was evermore myself to revel in.
The Past is telling me stories about a time when I dreamed so many dreams
and I feared nothing and no one.
I wasn't afraid of love and I wasn't afraid of exploring and only being.
The Past is a tease, making me warm and wet for days it knows
I can never have back.
And the Present grabs a hold of me with burly arms thickly corded with
muscle and persistance.
There's no running back in a slow motion reel, and running forward
into the arms of that mysterious stranger Future is scarier
than what hides in the dark of the moon.
I'll settle for an even pace and a prayer.

Dust.
Keep it in my back pocket, keep it low 'n ready.
Grab a handful, a grubby fistful, when you need it.
A desperate need.
Need it like a gasping breath after swimming in the dark deep
of your own thoughts.
Need it like a lover's glance, or calm words after a storm.
When the need takes you in,
you'll tremble and shudder
like leaves or sunlight.
When the need swallows you, you'll know.
A deep down know, a bone stilling know.
Your soul will rise and fall, lifted and crushed
like shells and hopes.
And then you'll rebuild, picking up
little pieces and big pieces and heart-shaped pieces.
Discarding.
Cataloguing.
And you'll know.
You'll know that you took a handful and made a world.
You'll know that you did your very shining best, that you
fell off of every cliff and tripped down every flight of stairs.
That you broke and shattered perfection
into what it was meant to be.
For today, you destroyed beautifully.
You gave need a want and want a need.
What is needed...
What is wanted...
Hope? Courage? A bit of faith?
Or maybe love?
These are things that sink or swim.
Will I sink or swim...
Today?
Tomorrow?
In  this world where you don't know
what you need or what you want?
There's only one thing you can know
and cling to in this life of waves and currents and storms.
You know there's a glimmer. A bit of dust.
And you know that you're not ready to stop swimming yet.

Copyright Morgan Graham October 8, 2012.