She lay inert on her back
Of time she had lost all track.
Her hand dangling off her bed
The hand that spurted blood, deep red
Poisoned with sick agony
It flowed, quiet and steady
They called her loony, mad, insane
They couldn’t see the monstrous pain
Couldn’t see the evident confusion
About discriminating love and delusion
They only saw her fade from sanity
Slip away from the rest of humanity
At the very end of consciousness
She felt fleeting tenderness
For those who loved her, or attempted to
Rock that she was, they couldn’t get through
She heard the clock hand ticking away
Felt her life beginning to ebb away
Sunday, April 26, 2009
There is a blinding inferno,
blazing inside of me.
A fiery mass of feelings
that no one seems to see.
They mock with endless laughter,
the emotions that flow in my soul
the words that come thereafter.
My abilities are a joke to them
they revel in practicality
their measuring yardstick terribly short
ignoring hope for harsh reality.
To them I have this to say
your souls are but dry wells
denied the hope of precious water
even with magical spells.
It takes courage to hope, still more to dream
when insulting the heartless world may seem.
Around my pen my fingers will ever curl
till the day my words move the world.
The waves break gently on shore,
quenching the thirst of the land.
Birds soar high above.
They are glad to be alive and so am I.
An innocent voice hails me,
urging me to admire her sand houses.
My little girl sits among her sand structures,
beaming proudly and patiently explaining
her kiddy architecture.
She shows me her future house, one which
she will fortunately share with me.
The explanation of her art goes on,
laying bare her fantasies and wishes.
Finally exhausted, she snuggles into my arms
and I watch her sleep.
Her cherubic face framed with soft curls,
a source of delight, never fails to charm
man or beast.
Later she wakes and gives me a content smile.
A moment later I'm walking
along the sandy beach, with
my little angel skipping beside me.
Our progress is stopped often,
no shell must go uncollected.
She begs me to swing her around.
The seaside echoes with shrieks of delight
as her request is gratified.
As we later watch the glorious sunset,
I can't help but think
I'm the luckiest mother on earth.