Listening to silent thoughts drifting in and out of my fingers.
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The rose in a decanter scented with water,
floating just beneath the surface,
preserving its petals one by one
with only the tips of red showing,
vibrates music stems filling bodies
with melodies of water, evaporated.
As if taking away all shadow longing,
missing pieces that can't be taken
from rain swelling grey skies outside.
Hiding in this water globe world
refusing to speak, denying
.spinning, out of control inside glass,
the sting from breathed breath.....
I spiral upwards,
through the myriad of dreamy mists
that are all I've known for years
Years that left many memories,
growing on my mind like some fungus,
eating it away, wasting myself
Falling into a stinging snow, whitewashing
my face and my brain,
draining my life into whiteness,
just for a moment
Running through a springtime clearing,
the green grasses brushing against my bare feet,
grass stains spreading on them like paint on canvas,
depicting some gruesome scene
Standing in an interminable summer rain,
arms outstretched, letting it coolness
course through my body,
washing away my pains
Watching the wind toss the multicolored leaves,
tumbling and turning to the ground,
the flickering fire in my cheeks
flush with excited laughter
Loosing fire red hair,
thrown all around into tatters,
The years cycle by,
The mask is built, its tendrils biting
into the sweet skin, buckling and breaking flesh,
smashing nerves and mutilating muscle
I stumbled on, blinded by the memories I built,
the mists I willed,
the dreams I balanced
Out of the mists now,I
see the missing memory,
downing a cocktail in the kitchen,
daddy's little girl gone wrong,
torching the memories
I weave by moonlight,
my words carried
far by the night wind
the tapestry stretches across the heavens
blanketing all my feeble eyes can see
raising my voice above the sound of my loom
I feel the sound fall like rain to the ground below.
It starts by choosing a subject, careful not to get too close
or I'll know to much and the thoughts won't come to my
head. One time too many I allowed the opportunity to pass
once too often I watched you walk by or was it I who
brushed by you, so full of life.
I hold the scattered pieces of an angel and smell the wind softly
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Seeing a candle flicker till done
The wick, new and untouched by heat
sparks fire easily, makes light in still dark
rooms with no heat. Burning slowly
wax dripping, building at the bottom
of the base of a crystal holder
never fearing blown winds
to stifen color of rainbows
in eyes not seen feel something
but nothing it burns slowly
till the wax melts a wick
and nothing provides warmth
for night.
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Words dancing fingers through music
Back to magick whispers
All writings original by Kim Mayhall copyright@1999
Please do not use without my permission
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