False Hope

I hear the birds sing
An April song
As they watch white mountains
on the gardens
Slowly become
 powdered sugar-coated pancakes

I open my eyes
And spring toward the window

And then I remember...

It's January.

And once again
I'm frozen.

Twilight

I don't want to be just another
Word clinging to the line
on a turning page;

I'd like to be the bigger picture
Hanging about around the hall,
Hoping to catch you strolling through.
Witnessing our time gracefully age.

So I paint my gypsy days
Beside your loyal nights;

Maybe you'll eventually
Brush up against me,
And our lives will
Rub off on each other.

Blending.
Beautifully.

All This Ocean

I cry
just a little every day
For all that has vanished
Out of my life
And into death

Though, it's important
That this be explained:

My tears are not complaints;
For on them sails a ship
Of gratitude;

A ship that would
Be nothing
but rust
And  shame
With a faded name
If it weren't for all
This ocean
 that waves
to your eclipse.

This grief is no anchor;
It's a northern glow--
A stamp on the upper
Right corner of the sky.

When I mail
My RSVP
To your memory's sweet invitation,
On the strength of the wind
This pain will fly.

Everything

It seems for as long as I’ve been—

Heavenly dreams have

Curled up beside me

And slowly rocked my mind
While I fell
Into the depths of a mystery

Even when darkness was my bed

And I didn’t know who else

I could whisper to…

Besides the sky

That could very well
Just be a stone on a mood ring

Besides the lightning and the rain
Before the thunder barges in

And the introverted moon

Mostly quiet in the conversation

Waiting for its turn
to shed some light on things

And the strongest trees--

holding the swing

As life

 Bends and kicks its legs:

Back and forth
Through the highs and lows

And I can't stop it
By dragging my playground shoes
Against the dirt

Everything will change

Everything will fall

and in a dark moment
will pause

Just before the wind
Lifts it like a child
Back to the sky...

At least once
If not every day

It's the contrast that sharpens the clarity

 I believe this is what

I've come here to learn
Over, and over again.

If I Can Only Stand

I want to walk with you
over soft places
where belief is conceived,

Through times when peace
closes its eyes
and dives for reincarnation...

to try again.
to do it better.

and if I can only stand,
but still feel the warmth
of a friendly hand--
I hope my arms are brave enough
to be the branches
that present the red leaves...

each fallen fault
(still beautiful)
Spell them across the Earth;
read them to the listening blue--

I want them to tell
all the ways I happily fell
while bending to comfort you.

Waving ,and twirling colors.

Only wanting
 to reach the untouched sky
with my grateful reply
to the message you carved into my life.

Three Five-Sentence Stories-GBE2#127

Submitted for GBE2 Week#127

He Guards The Echoes of His Memory

Forty years and a day ago, he had it all--laughter, love,youth, and a family of warmth joined safely together in his living room . Nobody ever sees a tornado coming from their blind side. He didn't watch the weather channel that morning before he rolled out of the driveway. Something the sky was brewing was on its way, and it appeared as dark as the end of time...as eerie as a ghostly fist repeatedly pounding the same dreadful chord.

 Forty years and a day later, the neighborhood children take turns daring each other to startle the long-bearded man with dusty eyes, who stares all day and night at the broken-down shack  that so wearily leans over the edge of a dead-end street; but he hears and sees no distractions...he'll never leave or lose sight of home again.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Runner

Every evening she takes long runs that lead to anywhere but there. If she runs fast enough, she could almost be the invincible wind...nothing could ever snatch the wind when it flies through the dark. A hope beats beneath her chest that this is the final run that will put the screaming daylight to rest. She knows if she turns to look back at the long stretch of road behind her, she'll see bruises everywhere, and that solid white line will become a scar that connects the past to now.

Suddenly, a pale little girl--with the woman's same scared sound, though much younger voice --
hurries and catches up to the runner just as she collapses near the bridge; kneeling beside her, she asks with good-bye eyes, to be rocked to sleep one last time.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Autumn's Paint

She climbed as far north as she could up October's tree, and waited patiently until December--but she still felt the same when the first snow finally came. She shook her hair in the brisk air hoping her thoughts would drop with fall. The tag on her clothes described what little girls were made of, and the fancy ladies they must grow to be. The mirror on the wall told her she should love a boy or not at all. Now Autumn has run out of paint, and it doesn't matter, because changing her true colors was never a possibility.

Today is Okay

Today all is okay

Death stayed

deep in the black

Of the last funeral

And did not come forward

To make geese

push through the freckles

Of my smooth skin

With its cold breath

Today the sky

 is soft

And safe

All the souls

Have placed their blankets down for a picnic

None have booked a flight

And all I see

Is an angel

Peeking through

The opening of a cloud

To check on me

And she leaves

With her smile

Because I’ve got plenty

Because I am at rest

Because some days

Loyalty shines brighter

Than a cloudless sun

Stronger than the endurance

of a summer’s blazing day

And I can bask in it

With no burning risk

 And I can sing

all the things I love about it

And pluck every blooming chance

I once walked by

 with closed eyes

through a dreamy spring

Buried Word

There was a word

Laying on the silence

Of a body of sorrow

Unmoved by the wind

Whispering its strong concern

There was a word

Stuck in dark seclusion

Unmotivated

by the determination

Of dawn’s touch

There was a word

that couldn’t find a voice

To lift it to its heaven

To rescue it

From the layers of uncertainty

Shoveled over it like a grave

All it could do

Was remain a slave

To nothing