Deep below the surface,
in dark and muddy waters,
she was raised.
Never looking for the surface.
Never knowing there was land.
Until one day,
the winds started to change
and the deep rolling waves
washed her ashore and far
from the mud her roots were
planted in.
The sun warmed her face,
Her fins grew to feet
and with a walk turned sprint,
she paved her own path-
so very far from mud she called home.
She knew her contentment was temporary,
as the rains always come.
And when the water crashes from
clouds to land,
the dirt will swallow the rains
and the mud will anchor into her shoes.

Hold your breath silly girl,
down you'll go again.

I wrote your name.
On myself, my walls,
every scrap of paper I could find.
Tenaciously trying not to forget.
I wrote your name, and in it,
every word you said.
Fighting sleep as it called to me.

But when I awoke; it was gone.
I could not remember why
I wrote your name.

You were so pretty while you were sleeping,
I had to wake you.
I didn't mean to disrupt your dreams,
I just had to tell someone, and the cats never listen, the dog doesn't understand, and the bird, he'd be jealous.
See, sometimes when you fall asleep before I do, I get lost in my love for you.
Sometimes when you're still and quiet, you are most alive in me.
Sometimes when you are dreaming your dreams, I am living mine.

Cassie babe,
Your eye don't fix onto anything
What's holding your words in?

Painting up above
It seems you've a love for everything
I just haven't seen you grin

Thoughts on edge
Inside instead
Your legs dangle from a ledge
Gormless expression
Inner canvas expression

Not a thing to say
In your mind all day
You know the way it goes
Drifting to
And floating from
Places to spaces
But never really going anywhere
Well nowhere that she'd like to share
With you or me

Pondering elegantly
Elaborating privately
Although
There is no doubt
Your beauty's on show

i never dream of you
       because
no one else has ever made more
experimental love than you
love more beautiful
- it  makes dreams look like little tiny fruit flies

so earlier this day the girl asked
        what i was dreaming about last night
i said; woman
        my dreaming starts at first daylight
for i know that this day will be one of many
         i'll spend with you, darling

(ironic me; lately i have been dreaming of I
having the chance to say this)

9/12/2014

consolation is a prize set upon golden sands that my feet are no longer invited to tread upon

solace is a faraway whisper that is only loud enough to be heard in my dreams,
and when i am woke,
all hope proceeds to dwindle,
and solace has gone forth to a new home,
and i am left to a melancholic hum which pierces my ears like the tip of a steak knife,
and i am left to sit
and dream,
but how doth the dreamer sing when all that is laid upon him is sorrow,
and how doth the dreamer pray when the exodus tears him apart from his mates,
and tell me how doth the dreamer love when all his life he hath known pain?

how does the dreamer live,
when he doth not see the light of the stars any longer,
when he doth not feel the warmth of the sun upon his nape,
when he doth not feel the wind outside his window?

the stars have gone dim,
the sun hath frozen outside of his dreams,
and the wind doth try to blow him away

away,
far away,
is that what the dreamer longs for?

what does the dreamer long for when life no longer fits his fancy?

i can say,
i* do not long for death,
but maybe i do,
for i am like this dreamer

i once longed for the stars to envelop me in their light,
and the sun to shield me with it's warmth,
and the wind to wrap it's breeze around me

but now i do not know what i long for

the dreamer hath decayed,
the life has begun to rot,
the moon has begun to fall out of the sky,
and i am afraid of what peril i,
the dreamer,
may face