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sleep graphic

The Heart listened to its own breath
As it slowed to soft whimpers,
Ticked the sweet sound of time,
World of light began to blur.

Fog-like darkness pricked the mind,
Fingers rubbing conscience gone,
Deeper sank the thoughts of stress,
Docile like a harmless fawn.

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I took two lovers by their hands,
Up stone paths to Chance’s crib,
Here two souls test their flame,
Wait in patience for Love’s command.

Three maids wait with satin sheets,
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: their names,
Bathes the youth in sweet-scented rain,
Dresses them gently for midnight games.

When the golden finger points to twelve,
Three bottles given by the maids,
Each liquid blessed or cursed by Chance,
The lovers hold their hands and pray.

We have our past and present joys
May Chance grant our future stay,
Choose the red, black, or brown,
Zeus’s love or Hade’s prey.

Red, they whisper, now tell our fate,
Clotho comes forth with great delight,
“I am the Future, behold your dreams,
Drink now and may your hearts burn bright.”

With a quick kiss they drink in haste,
Crimson poison scorches naked skin,
They cough and sputter to Hade’s notes,
Alas, Chance had switched the liquid within.

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Plain Paradise (9)

In dreams I dream of paradise,
No candy-coated sprinkled fruit,
Just one room of tall glass walls,
Tranquil, solo song of a flute.

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Dogwood
I cannot please the dogwood trees,
They bloom and wait for me to sprout
Into the ground my feet spread out
But stones blocked and stubbed my toes.

Waves of purple flowers flourished
My arms alone were bare in Spring,
Spider webs ate the butterfly wings,
The sun neglected all my leaves.

Summer passed me by in gulps
Swallowed life when it took leave,
With it all others began to grieve,
They saw themselves becoming me.

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Find Your Rope (7)

Her heartbeat quickened through the hourglass,
Time shivered threatening to crack,
Where was her purse, her keys, her heart,
All lost in a pit so deep, so dark
Black widows fall from blinded eyes.
Her body groaned in bloated veins
That writhed inside like Eden snakes.
Her breath–short–dying sigh,
Numbness carved into her pores.

Where is the sun? It does not rise for her.
She has no sun to melt her thickened ice.
Her lips sealed and locked up tight,
If only words could spill out her mouth
And from her solid heart.
Perhaps then and only then can she hear
The cries and screams of this universe,
Know there are others who like her,
Find little use to smell flowers in Spring;
Know that there are others who like her,
Found a rope up the endless pit,
And into the light that will embrace
All secrets she has kept.

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(6) Home

There comes a time when you must venture out,
Into seas of flowers and snakes to test your doubt,
When again you feel the need for warmth and peace
Home will find you and all your worries cease.

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A Visitor (5)

I sat by a window in a corner coffee shop,
Sniffing morning latte reading bashing blogs,
In comes a young lady, T-shirt and jeans,
Hello, How are you, mind if I join?
I nod and make a gesture to the seat,
What harm can a little chitchat do to me,
She is kind in eyes and sweet in smiles,
Perhaps she knows me in a memory forgotten.

Who are you and why choose me this day?
Sit, drink, the scents are rich and divine,
Tell me your name, whichever you like.
“Me.” She whispers and sips her tea,
Me? I doubt my name is of use right now.

“No, my name is me as I am also you.
The air you breathe I breathe as well,
Those years you trembled by your bedside
Muttering prayers crying out salt,
Filling with hatred for your own soul
At the cost of love so freely given by others,
You fell into the deep abyss and I, me,
found your home,
When all seemed lost in words of pain,
When all doors shut and none were opened,
When all roads blocked and none were clear,
When you fed alone in clouds of shame,
I was there singing notes of healing,
And I by strings of light brought you forth
From the dungeon,
The cell,
Your own mind.

Latte gone, sweat of pearls drip drip drip,
Why are you here, why tell me this now,
Haven’t I moved on with a new pair of wings,
Haven’t I released those age-old contracts?
Be gone, your tea turns cold and
I grow weary.

Cold hands grasped my trembling chin,
I looked and saw my own eyes back,
“What do you want?” I turned my face
But she held on and touched my lips,
“Face my face, these are your chestnut eyes,
Your tender cheeks and dewy lips,
Blackened lashes, dyed red hair,
Look at me! Look at your face!
Love it, do you love it?
Can you stand to be my friend?
Am I despicable, vile, proud…
Are you?
Am I gentle, gracious, fair,
Are you?

I gasped a thousand gasps and woke,
On the ground in a pool of sweat,
No latte, no tea, no corner cafe,
Just a bathtub, a sink, and near the very top,
A broken mirror
Piecing itself
Together again.

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