Fall Asleep

We are dreamers of melancholy dreams,
Running wildly through a world of haze.
reality no longer appears true;
The hallucinations, visions, and more,
Are the concrete blocks and stone foundations
With which we build our mental skyscrapers.
They clay and scratch to reach sickening heights,
To touch the atmosphere of dreams, visions.

We are the dreamers, forsaking our lives,
Searching for meaning in the oracles,
To change our lives for the better, not worse.
We dare to tower tall - to touch the stars.
We dare to dream, and we dream of daring.
Dreams have become the sustenance of life.

Child of the Wind

Walk down the path of the wind, my dear child.
It races and runs through lavender halls,
Passing the flowers which your heart enthralls.
Twisting through tree tops, it is hard to trace,
Yet it has chosen you to give it chase.
Dash over the placid, cool blue water,
Watch the wind dance in thunderheads over
Whipping prairie grasses no longer mild.

The spinning wind has got you beguiled,
And you are destined to follow it now;
If you find her nest, no one may say how.
The world only knows that your heart is drawn
To your mother, the wind, who waits at dawn
For her child to come and leave the world wild.

Made a Side Note

I sat outside the door,
My ear pressed against the crack,
The air pressure between
Foyer and sanctuary
Rushed there,
Denying me my hearing.
Still, I was
Listening,
     Waiting,
          Fearing.

They had finished counting ballots,
Then counting them once again
     Just to be sure.
To choose to make the children leave,
Or to keep them in their arms.

All that was left was
Waiting,
     Fearing,

Praying

That the news would not be
The words I was scared to hear;
That me and my friends would have to leave,
Forced out by the decisions of the uninvolved.

They said that the school
Was the cause of division,
That we were the reason
The church was falling
     To pieces.

And then
The announcement was made,
So cluttered in with other business
I nearly missed it.

And then I wished that I had.

We left

And never
Looked
Back.

Images

~poem for Jessica Dreiling's paragraph~

Were sunsets to dawn
And the ground crunch overhead;
Such things would make more sense.

Were time to crawl
          Slowly
     Backwards,
Then I could happier rest.

Love is the drink untasted
But craved from birth.
It is morning glory that grows
     And will not die,
No matter how many stalks
  I pull
From the reaching soil
  That is within me,
Unheeded humanity?

It will not die.
Nor is it sated
     But by a glimpse of its epitome.
It blooms
     Unbidden and unwanted,
A weed that is yet more precious
     But for the very one
          For whom it spreads its petals.

How did you call forth
The bud that first sprang up in me?

Why do you stand opposite me,
With that look on your face -
     Like you know not of what I speak?

I offer you these blossoms
     Which you yourself have watered.
Why then will you not take them?


Heart of my heart,
You have renamed yourself to me.
Do you find it strange
That you could be loved of me?

Come then,
And uproot this plant
You have so tenderly nursed to life.

Choke this weed
You have so unwisely grown.

Or see me as I am.
A helpless flowerpot.

To the Voice in the Wind

Sweet chickadee, 

sweet pea, 

sweet little lips 

     with rosiness in cheeks.  

 Sing softly 

     and slowly, 

lowly 

     in a lullaby.  

Sing the world to sleep.

  

Rest your cool hands upon the atmosphere, 

swirling and twirling the stars to your beat.  

Sway 

and set the winds and breezes in place, 

caressing the world with their moving feet.  

Close your dark eyes, 

     enchantment and mystery, 

close them 

     and let your eyelashes fall.  

Block out the sun with your right hand, 

and let show the moon with your left.   

If you must cry, 

weep for the world.  

Let your tears fall to the broken hearts.   

Carry the children safe in your arms. 

     Carry them safely to home. 

Sing low, 

sweet chickadee, 

sweet pea, 

sweet little lips 

     with rosiness in cheeks.

Black, White, and Red

~based off of my narrative paragraph~

We begin with black hair

                And the whims of a spontaneous mind.

Black hair is the hair of enchanters and mysteries.

The darkness was the impulsive decision

Of the girl who has yet to learn to be a woman –

                What it means to be mature

                And convey the wisdom and knowledge

                Of an age far ahead of one’s own.

The deed was done and the girl saw contrast

Between her raven locks and the paleness of her skin;

                And her skin is very pale.

She is the modern Snow White,

The girl of black tresses with near-white skin.

She was led to boldness, spurred on by others,

To a step that the girl had never taken before.

Delicately,

Daintily,

With a small blaze of determination,

She swept the pool of red against her lips.

She walked out of the door,

                Into the open and vulnerable,

Wearing something bold and audacious,

                Blatantly brash

                Upon her normally neutral lips.

Walking down the sidewalks,

                Self-conscious of her lips,

                Daring against black and white,

A smile creeps up along her lips,

Red –

                The adventurous end result

                Of a black-haired beginning.