Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Sylvia Plath I am not...

But I do write....I have been writing poems on and off for years. Here are some .

So it has come 
A weak flower,blistering in the scarlet heat 
Streams of sun float and bounce along
As the air of the new dawn cascades 
It tiptoes across my face
Dancing a merry tune so sweetly
Pushing past the darkness that came to feast
Upon my tender soul
Embracing me 
Taking me
To the place I long to be
Allowing me to finally be free

You look upon me with eyes of sad pools of yesterday
Searching for the moment 
The time when my whisper will set you free
The grieving you do is not for me or us
You feel not of that but of a shallow place within 
Tears stain a face that cares for none
A heart did not break but broke one
Chasing a dream finding only fleeting moments of nothing
Never catching what was already there

Time is slowly taking its toll
Stretching out thin,to the point of tearing
Days drift rapidly 
Waiting for no one 
Waiting for nothing
Catching its breath to make it slow down
Life gets engulfed ,trying to stay ahead
Lost in the tide of time 
To be forgotten 
To become nothing more.

The crisp air fills our lungs 
As we slowly move along the street
The withering trees banish their children to the ground
Leaps and bounds dying souls fall
Their crimson bodies break  beneath our  steps
We huddle together ,wondering
Waiting for the same fate
Happy to hold on to aged hands
Till the last leaf has fallen

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