Siren

waves crashing over each other.
excitement rising to the crests.      
an ocean of silk, tangled & tumbling tresses.
               
                           perched upon isolation.
                           waiting.
                           desires crashing over each other.

    a figure, a figment, a falsity.
    temptress with honesty, vulnerable in her truthful state.
    allure crashing over each other.                             
    waiting.                                          
                                     
                                    she is the fish, the weeds, the salt I choke on.         
                                    she is a mouthful of tart                                       
                                    a gulp of breeze.
                                    she is waiting.

            waiting.
            danger crashing over each other.
            but I cannot, will not hesitate
            to allow her                                    
                    
                                                   to pull me down.
                                                   I will wholeheartedly
                                                   let her drown me.
                                                   because I don't want to keep her waiting.

Ball Of Yarn

She rocks back and forth monotonously, untangling the web in her hands.  She glances out from the porch and sees a small girl skitter across, blond braids gliding behind her.  The girl rushes towards a tire swing and slides through in one graceful motion.  A man and woman stand at either side of her, smiling at each other as they push the swing.  He tips his fedora and kisses her on the cheek only to then pick up the girl and spin her around, their ring of laughter echoes in the wind.

On the porch steps, not ten feet away, a woman brushes her daughter’s hair.  Her face is serene and kisses the girl softly before she runs off to play, leaving a small lipstick stain on her temple.  The woman smoothed her golden hair down, attempting to hide her sadness that is evident in her eyes.  A car pulls up to the gate and she glances up curiously.  He is dressed in a crisp uniform, stepping out of the car, his brown suit pressed and his cap perfectly positioned.  She rushes to him at once, embracing him so forcefully that he stumbles backward.  He strokes her hair as she cries on his shoulder and he kisses her on the nose.

            As she sits on her porch swing, her aged hands move skillfully with the needles to weave a child’s sweater.  She sighs heavily, a lifetime of worries imbedded in her face.  Her hair has turned grey, silver strands shimmering when the sun hits it.  When a creaky car pulls into the driveway, she stands slowly, holding herself steady on the rail.  A young woman in a nurse’s uniform wraps around to the passenger side to help someone out of the car.  The process is slow, painstakingly slow but soon he emerges.  He no longer wears a hospital gown that outlined his frail bones.  He has a glow in his cheeks and extra pounds under his suspenders.  His cane causes him to shuffle gently but that doesn’t matter.  She descends the aged steps and hugs him longingly, weeping with happiness. 

Mr. Sandman

As children, we are told to pursue our dreams.  We receive encouragement to let them wander, far and vast to uncover wonders.  Then as the years go on, we find that there was a fine print to those statements.  Wander only as far as we see fit.  Do not dare tread into the dark woods.  Many have not come back who have gone in.  It is safer with boundaries.  Be practical.

But the woods call to us.  The lush foliage and canopies seem to create a mystical world one must journey through to fully appreciate.  There is something unspoken about it that children know it is an escape.  It is freedom for expression. 

            Despite all this, the doubts creep in as the limitations roll through.  The freedom of the woods becomes blockaded.  Fallen trees and wild animals tread your desired path.  Insecurities are injected like poison by those who do not believe; those without hearts.  The whole concept of ‘following your dreams’ appears to be a joke.  You cannot follow what is clouded from your vision. 

There are those that are stronger than the lethal poison.  They push through and overpower the drug.  They do not need to see to believe.  These are the ones who will enter the woods.  The reason they do not return is because there is no need to.  Why return to the dark tunnel after a lifetime of sun?  The strong individuals have the drive, the vision.  They will not be stopped from reaching the woods.  After every parting cloud there is light.  They are not following their dreams.  They will lead them.