DARC - Dreamers and Rainbow Chasers :: View topic

He Touched Me

He touched me.

Words hung like lead weights in the air.
The silence became loud
as symbols, crashing against my chest.
The look of shock, pale faces
of those I trusted
peered out from behind dead rigor eyes.

He touched me,

I repeated, hoping for an answer
to my haystack of questions.
My elementary mind could not
forge the right inquiries,
the whys, the how’s, the what to do's...
All I could say was,
he touched me
and listen to the silence that killed
my childhood.

Paper Dolls

She makes paper dolls in her room,
sunlight streams through her tangled hair,
locked away in the attic,
while breakfast dishes clamor in song
downstairs.
No one has remembered
the lost child, the silent one
tucked neatly in her own little world.
She pulls the paper apart,
spreading a chain of little people across
her open arms.
Silently, she smiles,
making the dolls dance in the morning light.
A gentle giggle echoes
in the stillness, the sound startles her.
A chair pushes across the floor
followed by rhythmic pounding on the steps.
They are coming for her,
taking her away once again.
Folding the dolls neatly, she hides them
in a shoe box she found in the garage.
The door swings open as her world washes away.
Honey, come eat, its almost time for school.

I Thought He Was Jesus

It’s not the boogey man, Mamma.
But the shadow comes when I sleep.
No Mamma, he doesn’t scare me,
why are you crying?
Am I bad Mamma?
Am I going to hell?
He tells me I’m beautiful,
touches my hair
and says I’m a good girl, very good.
Am I a good girl Mamma?
Is it Jesus?
He whispers, I think I’m dreaming
but he says he loves me.
It hurts a little, Mamma.
It hurts when I have to pee now.
Did I do something wrong, Mamma?
Does he come in your room Mamma?
Does he love you too?
I think he must be Jesus,
Jesus loves me Mamma.
Mamma, don’t cry. I’m a good girl.
He touches my hair
and tells me I’m beautiful.
Are you praying Mamma?
Praying to Jesus?

I Hate The Sky

Angels fall
From heaven
Dropping to the ground,
Shattering like glass.
The earth quakes
Under the pressure
And I try in vain
To pick up
The pieces.
Feathers on the road
Remains of the decay.
I walk among the shards
Of dreams
And my blood runs in the gutter.
I hate the sky!

Little Girls Do Stupid Things

He moved like amber in the sun,
blinding my eyes,
smearing me with his sticky
butter cream smile.
I gave the world away,
hot air balloons
with tasseled dreams,
for a moment in his glory.

Little girls do stupid things.

He spoke in song and prose,
picking the notes easily
of my empty, hungry heart.
The seductive tease,
I, the mouse
in a cat eat cat game,
he slipped his hands
around my throat and I sighed.

Hungry little girls feel foolish things.

He owned the moon,
and splashed stars in my eyes.
He felt like warm summer grass
freshly watered in July.
His passion scared me,
a dry twig in his grip, curious.
Licking flames behind my ear,
I felt the earth give way in defeat.

Little girls should not play with fire.

He moved like broken glass in the night,
scraping my skin with his touch.
His voice broke like a whip,
carving my bones into a woman.
I gave away the world that day,
hot air balloons with tasseled dreams.

Little girls believe stupid things.

Snapshot

Take a snapshot.
Box me in.
Label me and cage me
In your dusty scrapbook.
You can’t keep me.
I’m always changing,
Always free.
You hate that about me.
I will have life
And lovers.
You will have a snapshot
Of someone
You never really knew.

I Like The Ride

I’m born again,
not religiously, though yes, that too.
Spiritually, a better word.
I saw Jesus the other day
standing at the corner
waiting for the bus to take him up town.
His long dark hair, stringy around his face,
sad brown eyes, checking a broken watch.
I cleared my throat,
He looked up, smiled.
Yes?
Jesus, I said....
I was wondering,
why do you bother coming here?
Its dirty, cold, lonely.
Broken people everywhere
just trying to make themselves happy.
What's the appeal?
He nodded towards the approaching bus,
digging change out of his pocket.
“I like the ride,” he said,
as the bus door swung open.
He tossed me a quarter, grinning.
I watched through the tiny row of windows
as the son of God sat next to a junkie.
I like the ride.

Come Inside My Sleeping Robes

Come inside my sleeping robes
Where the moon hangs lusciously
Close to the earth.
The sweet smell of dew heavy fields
Will fill our senses
Like a melancholy dream for lovers.
Come inside my sleeping robes
Where stars mingle to taste our skin.
Radiant lights play kaleidoscope games
Upon our aching flesh.
Tender as ripe cherries, we dine
On each others lips.
Come inside my sleeping robes
Where fire and water collide into steam.
Lava canyons merge
With fresh water springs
Lapping at each other’s desires.
The feel of our bodies joining as one,
Lost in a psychedelic haze of passion.
Come inside my sleeping robes
Where love is tangible and free.
Come and feast on my heart
As I devour yours so completely.