Sia Jane

Oct 2015

Christi Michaels MoonFlower

If only your arms
Held me true again
Our lips and
bodies entwined~
If we could remember
language once shared.
Find our rhythm divine

Yet we have climbed
these ravaged cliffs
Heartbreak Chasm
between~
A fragile bridge
of diminished connect
Crossed only in my dreams

Older now
in this state of suspense
To watch our love fall away~
A tender time for both of us
This loss of each
Precious day

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved

ThankYou all so much for reading
The Daily. I appreciate your
stopping by to say Hello!!!
♡☆●○●☆♡♢♡☆●○●☆-♡

This is about the loss of a long term,
once intimate, emotionally
committed and "forever" relationship.

Oct 2015

Mike Essig

Divine Generosity

god made stars
for starving poets

when they look up
they forget
how hungry they are

~mce

Oct 2015

penn

♥

I want to colour the skies and drown in the blue
I want to write poetry and read it for you
I want my hairs to fall on your face as we lie down smoking the last cigarette, laughing at our silly stories,
The old staircase at my home leading to the terrace,
I want to keep small pots which bloom jasmines in the hot summer nights.
The small diary which I hide in my drawer.
I want someone to read it one day.
I want you to know me..
Like no one has know ever.

I laugh like a lunatic, and cry like one too..
I wish to paint myself with colours unknown and become an art myself because people like me should come with a caution..
As I am the untamed storm and I would destroy you in the most beautiful way possible..

Oct 2015

Dylan Thomas

The Conversation Of Prayer

The conversation of prayers about to be said
By the child going to bed and the man on the stairs
Who climbs to his dying love in her high room,
The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move
And the other full of tears that she will be dead,

Turns in the dark on the sound they know will arise
Into the answering skies from the green ground,
From the man on the stairs and the child by his bed.
The sound about to be said in the two prayers
For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies

Will be the same grief flying. Whom shall they calm?
Shall the child sleep unharmed or the man be crying?
The conversation of prayers about to be said
Turns on the quick and the dead, and the man on the stair
To-night shall find no dying but alive and warm

In the fire of his care his love in the high room.
And the child not caring to whom he climbs his prayer
Shall drown in a grief as deep as his made grave,
And mark the dark eyed wave, through the eyes of sleep,
Dragging him up the stairs to one who lies dead.

Sia Jane Oct 2015

Winter Air

(1)

I'm disturbed and yet deeply
comforted by my disturbed nature
I'm comforted because my darkness
envelops me-
it may be cold to the touch
rigid and upright
not soft and loving
but it's loyal
it never leaves.

Today, I'm driving
window down to help me breathe
I capture cold air in my wind pipe
I smell November winter air
smoke from chimneys rising-
when I breathe out I'm smoking too
warm air penetrating cold air
I smell November winter air
we're still in October
it's too early for these memories
I'm unprepared- it's too early.

Sat next to me she appears-
a paler, younger, thinner self
a self I'm sure has passed on
to another life
if it haunted me we'd call her a ghost
but she comforts me
shall we call her an imaginary friend?

"You look terrible!" I state wilfully.

(2)

She's dressed in a thousand layers
"You still feel the cold, eh!" I say
She winks, staying aloof
from any possible conversation
I take a tone of similar indifference.

There she is barely visible
so unafraid of death
arms striped with incisions
a razor blade left behind
hip bones, collar bones, chest bones
she's nothing more
than a white sheath coat
pulled over the skeleton of
a human body
skin screaming for nourishment
to show any signs of life.

If I asked to feel her pulse
there'd be nothing there
no beat
no rhythm
"Maybe it's why the fear of death
has left me!" she commands
"Because in your muffled confusion
your muscles wasting
including your brain-
you mistake yourself for dead." I retort
"You're 21 for Christ's Sake!"

(3)

Distracted by a red traffic light
I turn away-
when I look back, she's gone.

So here I am
talking to myself
the ghost of Christmas past
disappears as soon as my back
is turned.

When I'm alone
the silence
is always louder
than any noise I ever hear-
the silence attracts her back
I reach out to her
trace her face with my finger tips
I whisper: "God Bless,"
knowing some memories are meant
to be laid
to rest.

© Sia Jane

Read on SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/sia-jane-words/winter-air