In the wind she heard her tongue describe a painting she had seen,once a time ago
or two times ago. It was shaded in blue, with gold and purple streaks flown through it.
~ Hearts will never be practical until they are made unbreakable. ~
--- The Wizard of Oz
For years the whispered voice stood among the wreckage of many too dark shaded nights and gray scaled days till once she felt her own screams vibrate into her ears...touching the core of what made living free and a choice to dance while music seeped through the soles of her feet....the caressed notion that rain wouldn't melt fair skin and smiles were in fact not a sign of destruction erased common facts that it does get cold in the winter and that if left in the rain long enough after the sun sets..a body could in fact freeze to death...left unattended dreams fade into the crevices of fingerprints, joy and sadness can become mistaken for each other in times of silent grace...words are not printed visions, only whispered voices.
Staring into pools of still water,
waiting for a first breeze to ripple
chords of light throughout its hollow
center, silent enough to almost hear
ants rebuilding mounds of earth,
consumed in empty holes for safety.
In time she learned that her shadows were not really a part of her at all and there was no need to out run them...but to embrace them..that was the challenge...she could make them anything she wanted and in times of great need they could protect her...build walls around her heart and her mind at the same time..could hypnotize her into sleep if she so desired as to miss the changing of seasons..to never leave when called...as the collections of dolls and toy soldiers never leave their stand surrounded by dust, cobwebs and stones carelessly put in a jar in hopes of retaining a far off memory..only whispered voices.
Hungry mouths opening
inside me like furtive moths
inside a sheltered caccoon
reaching infinite blackness
with the fat summit of fingers
melting slowly among naked stones,
smooth, caressing the earth
to breathe its liquid food.
The skies fill with the rapturous
whisper of so many more
dangling carrots.
|
a poem about that would be nice she nonchalantly lied to herself knowing they weren't her thoughts at all.
|
Only whispered voices.
|
Watching her self multiply in sense, time and space....yet reverting into nonsense, untimely steps , and much less space...her eyes changed from blue to gray....almost over night when she realized that her magick was leaving her faith in trees unfounded....lost in the spaces left unmarked the choices left made too drastically...jumbled from one thought to another with no words anyone could understand she sat one day on the steps...and saw nothing...heard nothing...dreamed nothing
......only whispered voices.
Back to Magick Whispers
Butterfly Whispers
All writings original by Kim Mayhall. copyright@1999
Please do not use without my permission.
|
|
Email me on:
whsprbreth@aol.com
|
This page has been visited
times.
|
| | |
