This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at She pulled herself out of the water.

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I used to believe in miracles ,
Used to think that I had a guardian standing tall ,
With auburn tresses falling delicately covering his untainted cerulean eyes ,
His hoary white wings would glisten in the velvety moonlight ,
His arms would form a hindrance to protect me from the malovelent ,
I would overcome all trepidations and walk home alone ,
Not needing anyone to walk by my side , not needing anyone to listen to ,
I loved being alone with no one to hinder my thoughts and sorrows ,
That was because my heart knows my guardian would always be right behind me,
Watching over my every step , but he soon began to ebb away ,
There were no longer dull grey clouds to shield me from the sun ,
No longer mellow pitched voices in my head that would break the placidness in my life ,
No longer silhouettes of massive wings lurking behind me , giving me warmth and faith ,
He was gone and I was left alone , but it dawned upon me ,
I was alone to begin with and will perpetually be till I ebb away to meet him in heaven.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Guardian Angel.

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I fall asleep, if but only for

A split-second:

End of cigarette in my right hand.

It’s early, I mean early morning,

Her ghost; detached from her vehicle and ready

She, wanting to take over me

Through the semi-transparent white;

That of an angelic-spread.

Swinging my empty left hand; forward I haul

Myself.

I jolt up and out of it,

Back to the now,

Without her

Possessing me.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Finding Maynard.

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it’s been more than a year now,, since father left us,, mother, and i alone.. things have not been easy,, but we are making our way,, in this strange world,, into which we’ve both been thrown…

with father gone, and little in the coffer,, after his illness and burial and such,, our one saving grace,, has always been, the ivory keys on fathers old piano,, under mothers gentle touch..

every eve, after we’ve sup’ed,, in the dim light before we go off to bed,,, mother sits down, and speaks thru those keys.. they are her words… words left unsaid….

she speaks sometimes of her love for him,, and the music is soft and sweet,, it is playful and ticklish and smiling,, sometimes i have noticed her blush,, with a thought,, perhaps indiscreet….

and others she will wail,, and bang down hard,, on the surface of black and white keys.. reliving her days of frustration,, whilst fighting that horrible disease..

the wasting sickness that swept up father,, like a pile of old spent leaves,, and carried him away to the dustbin of life,, like a swift cold unforgiving breeze…

sometimes she will play,, and i am sure that it is,, hope i hear springing to glorious life,, and as she continues i pray that it wont spiral down yet again,, filling her heart with strife…

it has been for us both,, a blessing and a curse,, our nights spent around that piano,,, catharsis, and hope,, anger and joy,, she’s accompanied us,,, mother and i,, where ever we go..

and tomorrow when they come,, and haul her away,, to her new home in a place far from here,,, we will look on with sadness,, as if we are losing a friend, one we have both held most dear..

i cant help but wonder how we will fill our nights,, with both her and father reposed,, just mother and i in the still of the eve,, after supper,, when the drapes are all closed..

will we sit every night in the darkness,, speechless, thinking solely,, never saying a word?? or will it draw us closer,, on this road full of losses, which together she and i,, have incurred..

it is my solemn prayer,, that one night very soon,, mother will draw me to her bosom and say,, “tho’ it hasn’t been easy i’m richer by far,, having you,, daughter,, here with me each day…

by: paisley

photo:
At the Piano by James Whistler

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at at the piano.

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Freedomโ€™s been cherished since time began

No people on earth has the right

To deny another people to exist free

Itโ€™s the Creatorโ€™s prerogative

We can only feel, think not act

Thatโ€™s not ours to do

And should this divine law be violated

No sacrifice is big enough!

Then does the Great Games stand a chance?

Letโ€™s for once do it right

So we donโ€™t need rectify history

Think what they did

And what weโ€™ve made of

โ€˜The land that flows with milk and honey!โ€™

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Tibet.

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in much the same way as steel,, when passed thru the flame, will temper,, passions flames, once quenched,, have hardened my heart.. like the frog, playing comfortably in the pot of cool water,, unaware of the flame below,, oblivious,, as the temperature rises,, i languished in the all consuming tongues of your passion,, as you raked them skillfully, across my every erogenous zone.. searing me,, with convolutely explosive make up sex,, branding me,, with desire,, no,, obsession- to possess every inch of you, to make you whole,, to complete you,, to meld into you,, and become one.. to know every gap and crevice of your being, to fill them willingly,, with pieces of my own essence,, never noticing,, as the delicate little gaps,, the tender crevices,, became gaping holes,, that sucked in and swallowed,, my very soul,, leaving me, parched and dry,, as the graveled remains of my hardened heart,, that you chose to abandon,, in a mound,, on the side of the road,, as the dust swirled.

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at as the dust swirled.

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