I lay on my back,
Crystal water
Washing around me
Ringing in clarity.

Waving gold forests
Caress my fingertips.
Their shimmering spots of sun
Soothing to me.

Clouds, cotton candy at first,
Fill space and time
With sureness and sense
With fragile glass eyes
I watch them go by.

They float farther and farther
Sun brighter and brighter.
I’m still,
Brittle,
Clear water washing over me,
As I drown in the vast, empty sky.

Swirling silt rises as the my thoughts pollute the water,
Blackened, poisoned by my mind.

I lay in darkness, frozen in murky-still slush.
A thickening swamp to rot in,
What does it take to stop clinging to the bottom and rise,
Rise above the murk to clarity,
Away from the sediment,
Up towards serenity?

A last strand of sunlight reaches down,
I shut it out,
Searching for a light within
Searching for something to brighten my own darkness after the sun will set

One ray.
One sliver of clarity will be enough.
When will it come?
How was my world so light before, so clear?
Waves lap over my face, over my head, over my chest,
Revealing a faint glow.
A new angle, new feeling, for once a breath of air.

Just enough.
Enough to part the swirling silt,
To catch a glimpse of an inky sky.

Though it may have seemed otherwise before,
She is not empty,
But filled with stars.
Small, far away,
But breathing light,
Glowing and just bright enough to soften the vast emptiness before me.

All with their own lives,
clear streams or silty quagmires,
All so far and alone but still shining, beaming with hope.

Just enough
Just enough to relight a spark, to bring a silvery luminescence to the waving, silent forest.
Still swirling with silt, but growing clearer each day.

Enough to see the thick, rich clouds,
Collage on canvas,
Layers stripped away to reveal
Stern colors beneath.

The clouds changed,
No longer fillers and pillows,
Now new and untamed.
A complement to the sky, not her replacement.

And in my corner of this sky,
I learned I was the moon.
Though I would darken,
Draped by shadow,
I would always find a spark to light my own way in the vast emptiness of a tortured mind.
And perhaps even enough for a lost star to claim its light.

Maybe I can cut my hair,
Fresh start,
Bring me closer to a feeling that’s not quite there.

Want to be loved,
Just not by you.
I wish I could feel for you the same way you do...
But there’s a sunflower seed still growing wild somewhere inside me,
Even though there’s no hope for it to be
It’s still there

In a weeping valley ringed by slumbering mountains
The most beautiful things
Are slivers of December sky
In between layers and layers of  clouds of darkened silver,
Reflected by the sea-bottle blue of sea glass panes.

The tops of spires nestle in fine mist,
And lifegiving raindrops splatter across crumbling walls,
They stain everything green,
Giving this haven of patchwork concrete and metal it’s name.

Let my sorrows depart swiftly with these silent currents,
Let my wishes be fulfilled by this emerald city.

Late mornings of waking up to lazy sunlight
Stretching its rays across a pastel sky like I stretch my legs deeper under the crackling blankets
In search of pockets of warmth to keep out the chill

Where in the day the cool clarity makes everything a bit too real,
The ringing boldness of every line,
The inexplicable scent of chocolate and cinnamon and hints of fir
The sharpness of the Frost’s playful bite

Night falls early upon young lovers,
And watercolor lights glow as soft and colorful
As the secretly enamored gleam of overflowing joy in their eyes,
As they wander hand in hand, sharing music from decades before their time

When a muffled quiet settles in the suburbs,
All edges coated softly in glinting silvery-white,
An amber glow of street lights  keeping the night at bay,
With rosy cheeks and dry eyelashes
Peppermint kisses are exchanged

We sway gently back and forth on a speeding charter bus,
Too exhausted to speak
As we drift in and out of something that’s not quite sleep
Resting our backs against the fuzz of plush seats

A strand of your bleached, copper hair fell on my shoulder,
Making me remember that you smell like lavender and early summer,
And now our warm hands are intertwined,
Your slender, brown fingers curling ever so slightly under mine,
We’re leaning against each other, breathing in rhythm
With the crackly and haunting piano melody that plays over a syncopated beat,
The way my heart beats at the feeling of your side
Rising and falling in tandem with mine
The crackle blends with the splatter of glistening droplets on the windshield, running down and turning light to a muted
Somewhat grayish white,
And as we listen to this music just for the two of us,
I hear it in my left ear,
You in your right,
We drift in and out of the haze,
Warm, content inside a cloud
Where you are the silver lining.

Should I get up?
Should I write down the things that were assigned,
Instead of spilling fragmented words and phrases
Turning round inside my mind?
I know I won’t be able to sleep either way
As I hold my breath and press my lips together
To keep the ragged gasps at bay

I’m shaking in a near imperceptible pattern
Infinitesimally small,
Only using the word because it’s yet another measure of my worth,
How much I can learn
It’s only October first
My bonds and binds are already breaking from the heat generated by my lack of sleep  
That’s right,
After one month

Can’t keep it all together,
Grasping at trickling time, desperately
Clinging to even the smallest things I like
Is it bad that I’m starting to master the abysmal art
Of crying silently?

Yellow, and waxy smooth in shape they spiral down
The color of banana peels and rubber ducks,
Not enough to crunch,
Just the occasional skittering sounds from an accidental nudge
Of a laced up black boot.
It’s all lit up by pouring color
Painting the world pale gold and dusty blue,
Dimpled footprints across dusty sand,
Perhaps foreshadowing of future eons of crushed cement.

Evoking an image of rusted door hinges and creaking sheds,
Orange drips from ripened fruit,
Dappled dry reds of a curling leaf or faded velvet skirt.

And down below and oil painting of bottle green glass and soft leather,
Glinting and undulating in a translucent serenity.

Paint turns to pastel further out,
Smooth hints of pink on touches of sighing blue and perfect cream with lemon zest.

Oddly blending with the metallic rumble of heavy strings,
Thin black wings
And soft fabric on palms,
Warm light and a cool breath.

Interrupted by a jolting movement of a graceful, curious silk spinner,
Who dropped, and frightened the delicate moment away.