In a house of mud and straw
Forged by those I dearly know
A place where I often, in my memory, go
But I can not stay
There
I run
On tiles of clay
Hand made by a husband and a wife grandma and grandpa
Big part of my precious life
Tag: poem
The One
She tries to find him
Under another’s skin
Lost somewhere
Deep within
Shape-shifting
Changing
Never staying the same
She calls them all by his name
Castles of Sand
In her happy place
She writes
Uninterrupted
Ocean views
Giving birth to what’s unpredicted
Tales of memories long gone
There
She creates her new home
Castles of sand
Standing alone
Solidifying as she writes
Unique
The little girl didn’t like to wear
Her curly hair
She wanted to fit in
I could dye my hair
But I can’t seem to change the color of my skin
Wish I could go back to say
You’re beautiful just the way
God created you
Perfectly
Unique
Safe
There
She locks away her treasures
There
She attempts to feel safe
Burrowing
Covering herself in leathers
The fairy tries to blend in
For she’s the last of her race
And she refuses to give in
Trap waiting
Sit still
And you will win
Vulnerable
She knew she had to shed her skin
Had to be born a new
And in this vulnerable state
There’s not much she could do
To ward off the monster in the lake
There she waited
Contemplating her grave mistake
Waiting
For a new shell to form
Her fairy uniform
Hungry
The vultures hoped for a death
As the snow filled the road
And I
Standing by
Watching it unfold
Dare I contribute to their happiness?
Dare I provide them with their next meal?
The vultures remained hungry
We could not close the deal
Average
“You must be rich!”
Said the little boy
“You have a house all to yourself
You get water on command
And your house has lights on even during the day!”
I replied unimpressed:
“No, I’m just an average American.”
Heal
Breathe deeply
Hug a tree
Listen quietly
To the passing breeze
Touch the earth
Feet bare
Peace and health
Is waiting there
You but need to let it in
For your healing to begin
Source Unknown
The meaning is lost
The tracks are fading with the rain
The world doesn’t know her name
Yet she lives
In the meaning they assign
The words get redefined
The prophet becomes a poet
Writing notes
Passing time
And forgets her real power
After all
It’s rare to empower
A child with a pen
Channeling the source within
So they cite her teachings
As source unknown
Stranger Paths 