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May 12, 2010
Someone else ago
These days I feel the freshness of the colors
As they drip slowly finding their way. I like sunny days,
There is a clarity in light Although they are times I close my eyes
Vying for a more intimate affair. I shut off , handcuff and mute
My senses, floating away
I wish I could paint, words can't be brushed, there are
Clumsy, yet I have known words absurdly feminine or muscular
Words so tender they bruise while you place them, though some
could tear your skin . There is still something romantic about a man
Standing alone , paint brush in his hand
These days I stand outside myself looking in, these days
I am fragile yet I feel bursting inside, these days I am raw pink
All inside with a quiet affinity for mischief, I find myself playing hide
And seek inside my head the way we used to do with my kids,
Eyes closed, laying in bed some time ago
At last I have captured the woods, and there is no way
Back home. I am amongst the ghosts, silhouettes of characters
I had met: as they fell in love, lost their way, fought their nemesis ,
All along enticing me - I, the spectator
I closed each book , but the ghosts never left
They walked the hallways, whispering, begging not to
Be compromised, reciting stories of the woods, as I stood
Behind the windows lost. Yet I stood my ground living a normal life
Watching the woods so close, — outside
It seems so far now, such long ago, sometimes ago, someone else ago
Posted by Idinraha at May 12, 2010 07:39 PM