"dull when I wonder why I even try some days."

Is that what we wake up to every day?

Fast food and gas stations are forever stamped in the corners of my eyes as they are looking through the glass of minimum wage to the red flashing lights of a man hoping to get back to his children safely.

Is life is a pointed dagger then my blade is rusted and dull when I wonder why I even try some days.

Do I dare defend my pride and still demand something more than this? Is this a call for engines in the air or wings made of wax? Death would be more alive than waking up to another day of shampoo commercials and microwave dinners.

You are always whispering in my ear though dear and telling me that you're more than just a particle flown into my imagination from a world so oh very different than ours.

Are your eyes as bright as I imagine? Will the glare from them blind me from the tax collectors whip and will your laughter drown out the screams of onlookers who are throwing peanuts through the bars at my feet?

Will your kiss melt me and cause me to fall into wind like leaves in a storm, a tornado of color and beauty..?

I lay in bed and my eyes close tightly, my breathing slows and thoughts drip into pits men drown themselves in, the murky waters of nihilistic cynicism...

Though my hand will still not be closed around yours when the sun rises, the whisper lets me know you are still awake and searching for me too...

"as if in a dream, I recalled fleeting days"
Melody W 

parched and still longing
for companionship in gloom,
footsteps parallel to mine

my roots sought the warmth
unrecognizable in myself -

as if in a dream, I recalled fleeting days
when freedom beckoned softly,
and I still heeded its call

"Melancholy days stretch"
Melody W 

Melancholy days stretch
their spindly fingers, silently
grasping and uprooting
these vain contextual processes-
even as seaweed hair clings to rock
and the semiotic tides weep below

Hush now and they’ll appear
in unwavering moonlight
prospective fishermen (mere boys, really)
casting heavy nets into the sea,
much like their silent runaway dreams…
a multitude of iridescent scales escaping
yet oddly transforming into
the vast unknown

Melody W Nov 2012

Patterns of childhood emerge
as a forgotten splinter -
curious, distorted drolly

In the cool of the day,
we walked through fields
existing only in our dreams

No cry of birds nor distant hum
of languid bees upon new buds
met our ears, yet we felt no alarm

And when our feet pressed
soft indentations upon
rust-colored earth, we knew

the air would be
perfumed with more than
fleeting citrus notes

"the purest tapestry of days forgotten"
Melody W 

twelves tables run amuck
and still we swore that silent oath.

the elder, wise - all-knowing
eyed our childish glee, clasped hands

in wonder or perhaps resolute dignity
we traipsed down to the meat factory of old

eyes yearning to take in the negatives,
refracting the light of our shackles

and drones of silenced shrieks became
the purest tapestry of days forgotten

timeless still, were the tables
offering these courses of carnivorous delight.

Melody W Nov 2012

After the last mourning calls
of the speckled lark have faded,
will you still take my doubtful hand
and lead me through these silent fields?

And if these fields be saturated
with the blood of our youth
and the tomorrows we have lost,
will I still recognize the longing in your voice?

Crisscrossing bridges leading to nowhere
cast lonely shadows on this terrain;
the chains morphed into my refuge
shall beckon to you softly once more.

"unremarkable days, fleeting"
Melody W 

complex undulating cadences
reflect a multitude of sorrows,
overlooked and silent, forgotten

unremarkable days, fleeting
as the wind that carried you to me
unveiled as a mighty severance

in this solemn place, hope dwindles
as the celibate weeping willows
engage in a frenzied danse macabre

revel in visions so terrible, stunning
the very ones who seek enlightenment
amid this lurid, parched terrain

"Days, stretching to infinite proportions,"
Melody W 

Days, stretching to infinite proportions,
a gnarled oak, stark white against the cerulean sky,
distorting and twisting within itself,
aching to be complete, still, silent.

Nights, a lone swimmer's watery nightmare,
caught in the depths, darkness yanking feet down,
struggling upward
yearning to break the surface -

Howling and shrieking at an empty door
locked from the outside
to protect trembling walls

Is this who we've become?
Mindless drones who've arrived at the future,
cursing the past?

You overtook us swiftly, still trembling with rage,
your vise-like fingers softly caressing,
embracing our fragile necks,
each second drawing us closer to the final countdown,
knowing, but never quite comprehending
that we can never escape your cold lair.

And you -

grinning ironically,
peering down at us,
your playthings,
stumbling through this labyrinth;
blind mice, oblivious to our demise -

you will reveal everything
in Time.

Melody W Nov 2012

I awoke this morning, a shift;
peering into the spiraled darkness
slowly disintegrating into dancing
particles of lemony sunlight

I was a child once more.

Throwing off my covers, an eager
embrace extended to the world,
joy swelled my little heart
like a forgotten friend.

No empty rooms remain.

Flitting about like a tiny bird
soft down feathers abound
with infinite possibilities
I flew, I flew, straight to you.

And you found me again.

"inaudible cadence on windless days"
Melody W 

He once spoke of tree swings
the inexplicable eeriness of the whole
contraption swaying with an almost
inaudible cadence on windless days

Lost spirits, he had whispered,
they'll always come back
to the places that held the most
longing, sorrow, mindless torment

The night enveloping our distilled minds,
we became the shadows peering through
windows like empty souls caught
in a silent watery purgatory

Unbeknownst to me, he was
a drowning man clinging to remnants
of greatness like quicksand, yet headfirst
careening into the open mouth of tragedy

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