In the hussle and bussle
of a downtown inner city park,
the trees spread their arms
in magnificence,
drawing a cloak of leaves
close around them to shade
their bountiful roots.
Silence and peace amidst the chaos.
Another world that defies time.
Slow down.

T.S.F.

In the passionate heat of summer
I sit and shyly ponder the memory
of a magically mundane day
made special by the presence of you.
The sandy shores conformed uniquely
as we sat and contemplated youth.
Shared thoughts made memories as
the salt air caressed our skin.
Magestic oaks spread above us,
bees buzzing about their business,
the sun shining approvingly on all,
a slippery seal curiously stares.
Laughter golden in our eyes,
the surf reflecting our shared mirth,
a symphony of sounds and silence,
our hearts open and alive.
A single moment in time, forever,
a piece of my treasure gifted to you.

Baited with Bated Breath

A hand hangs, extended in the air,
grasping nothing but what is there,
nothing;
held up by nothing but willfulness.
You seemed to shun even the most innocent
gesture of friendship,
and made it more than it was:
false promises, disproportionate fantasies.

Why do you mock me?
Your gesture of decency shrouded in mystery.
'Tis more than happenstance
was your crude claim, your refrain.
You shove me away,
then invade my world again.
Why do you hide?
Why do you run?

A hand hangs, extended into the balance.
No need to be tentative anymore,
no need for caution, for cloak and dagger.
The time for daring is at hand.
Actors on a stage are we all,
and thus thy time is at hand.
Unmask thyself dear heart, dear soul --
first to thyself, and then to the world.

This complex and complicated dance continues,
though I'd almost rather it wouldn't.
It seems that 'tis in fact more than happenstance.
You leading, whilst I tumble and stumble,
pulled along in the wake of the unknown.
I'm tired of trying to dance unknowing and blind.
And so, I break away to dance alone,
though I look back with a wink and a smile.

This is the last of it,
this is all that I have left.
My endurance is not what it once was.
My desire is fading into the mists.
Master of the game, master of the dance,
I bow to you, this round you win.
Enjoy your old world, whatever oblivion you find.
'Till divergent paths may converge once again.

A Room For A Night

She has just showered. Literally scrubbed herself almost raw in an effort to be as clean as possible. Why is it that she never feels clean anymore? She washed her hair three times before using the luxurious deep conditioner, leaving it on for longer than usual to ensure that her hair would be exceedingly soft.

She toweled dry, almost dry, using a pristinely white, fluffy towel and then stepped out of the shower onto the floor of the spotless hotel bathroom. She tossed the towel into the tub behind her and grabbed a fresh towel, wrapping her hair turban-like. She assumed the level of cleanliness in this place would far surpass those of others due to the exorbitant nightly fee. She padded naked into the hotel room, luxuriating in the feeling of cleanliness and warmth.

She had searched for a long time to find a place that fully met her requirements. It is rather difficult to find a hotel with white decor. But she wanted white: white towels, white linens, white duvet. White, white, white. Not so much a color as a lack of color. And clean. Cleanliness was critical.

She wandered over to her bag, removing candles. White, vanilla scented candles. Twenty of them, one for each of her years of life. She placed them around the room, lighting each one reverently, delighting in the heady warmth and scent arising from them. Finished with this task, she removed the rugs from her bag and placed one on each side of the king bed in the room. Moroccan crimson rugs, the contrast striking in the colorless room. Satisfied, she smiled and placed the last item from her bag in the center of the bed and turned off the lights, candlelight creating a warm, inviting glow.

She removed the towel from her hair, mostly dry now, and walked back over to the bathroom doorway, tossing the towel into the tub to join its mate. Her long raven hair draped damply down her back, caressing her scrubbed skin. Padding over to the bed, she luxuriated in the thick pile of the carpet underneath her feet. Oh, the joy of this night. Finally.

She arranged herself cross-legged in the center of the huge bed and opened the case she had placed there earlier. Removing the contents, she reflected momentarily. Such a shame really, she thought as she examined the brand new straight razor in the soft glow of candlelight. Such a waste of white and clean. But ultimately, ridiculously poetic.

Crimson on white.

Enough is enough.

A rope tightens around me,
dissenters dance lightly,
wildly,
turning, twisting, tightening,
needling, whining, annoying.
Some turn their backs,
some step back to consider,
some stare in horror.
In the middle,
wind whipping at my hair,
restraints tightening around me,
I stand.
Coiled tension within my muscles,
power coursing through me
connecting me from ground to sky.
They do not see,
they do not look.

ENOUGH!!

Finally, I snap.

With my last breath,
I inhale.
I gather all my power.
And then I let it all go.
I open my mouth to scream,
to bellow, to holler.
And miraculously,
my voice has finally returned.

ROAR!!!!!

Insanity

Conversations with myself...or with the voices in my head. These happen often and increasingly so lately.

I am increasingly aware of how outside of the mainstream consciousness that I exist. Does this denote madness or awakeness? I fear I walk a fine line of balance between sanity and madness, that I am walking a tenuous path. Why do I cling to sanity? It is merely defined by the mainstream and by those who seek to be 'normal'. It seems that madness would be a relief, a natural progression of things. That this would be an excuse for me to exist as I wish, to "Do what thou wilt" as I would already be judged as 'that crazy girl' and therefore my actions would no longer cause any type of surprise to those around me. Why do I care, I don't care...I cease caring. And yet, the duality within me, the everpresent existence cares; this I cannot deny though I seek to. I don't care, I do care, I don't care, I do care...neverending beating in my skull, pounding in my head. My bright eyes view the world in a new light every day. What to do? Who knows what the future will bring. More knowledge, more knowledge. The quest is neverending.

I fear to let go, I fear to reveal the true me. I fear that she will be uncontained, uncontrolled, brilliant. I fear that she will run away with me, that the part of me that lets go will injure the part of me in control. That she will not want to relinquish the freedom that she will be afforded and that I will never exist again if she takes hold. Ironic that my greatest fear is to be caged and yet I fear also freedom, ironic that I cage myself and refuse to let go. That I cling to control with all limbs, that fear of freedom pervades my existence almost as much as fear of cages. Iron bars wrapped around my essence, welded to my very skeleton, my very being. No wonder it is so difficult to let myself out...I have entrenched them so fully into who I am.

And yet, let go I must. Time, time, time...I have time, eons, and yet I have none. It flows through my fingers, grasping fingers...trying to hold on, trying to let go. It slips, it slides, and yet there are so many lifetimes after this one. Why do we seek to rush and yet to hold on, to hold back? We are such paradoxical beings. The sands flow, they ebb, they flow....

Perspectives

My perspective is a mask of sanity.
My sanity is a mask of perspective.
Yours, pushed upon me, forced upon me,
for your own selfish comfort.
Oh sure, I appear stable,
but push any button,
the facade cracks and light bursts forth.
Veils drop, stone walls explode.
My true face is revealed.
And I become
the stuff of your nightmares.