A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction [and non fiction]. -- Virginia Woolf. I don't have a whole lot of money, but this will serve as my room. A space for uncensored writing, a space to discover my voice.
Monday, December 29, 2014
I loved you yesterday
I loved you yesterday
But somewhere between polished fingernails
Laced with painted cherry blossoms and
Scabbed feet watermarked by Monet's Water Lilies,
My heart ceased to beat--
A heart that once rushed to life
With each golden sunset reflected in your eyes
And every moss stained rock leading to high places.
I knowingly set it on that trail
Awaiting the tread marks of your boots
Or the stab of the pointed satin slipper.
Oh God! Something to make it alive!!
But it only lay there
Trampled and scarred--
Too weak to breathe its rose watered oxygen...
Until he came
With Christmas bells and slow dances by firelight
The smell of pine needles lingering on my skin
And his rich coffee laden vibrato
Humming deep within my chest.
Amid whispers of orange trees and blue skies,
My heart took its first sips of life
Reminding me of what I was missing...
Reminding me of what had been there all along.
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