Broken Pieces
Scattered around this house, in hidden dark
corners, beneath dust, debris, and every
day living, lurk broken pieces of who
we were at one time. Those people who met
and fell in love. Some of the bits are still
fully formed; others are worn down, edges
no longer distinct. Circumstances out
of our control – and some within – have warped
that image we held of the future, one
step beyond where we are right now. We keep
searching for that picture, the box top of
a puzzle from which we fear lost pieces
cannot be found, keep wading through our hopes
knowing inside we can be whole – again.
Siobhan
11/27/07
The Only Piece of Truth
This moon follower walks in twilight time,
chases down an unknown path, not stopping
to question the thrill of passion, catching
the curve of the moon, and pulls on her dreams.
I sit on the moon, cradled in her curve,
my perch precarious in the darkness.
Mesmerized by the movement below me,
hawk-like vision persuades me with light
and flickering shadows, that you exist.
I was unsure for so long, waking dreams
teased through daylight hours’ reality
– left me with my own imagination
as the only piece of truth I could hold
until shade and illumination joined.
Siobhan
11-18-07
Distraction
The fog of every day blinds the moonlight
and bright sky. We are unable to speak.
The distraction in-between paragraphs,
the dust covering love scenes, blankets us.
We become wrapped in the middle now
forgetting the existence of our hopes.
How can we go to sleep if our dreams keep
coming true without us, while we’re nowhere
around? We stretch out, reaching for something
we can no longer see with eyes open
or closed. Nightmares dance just beyond the edge,
peripheral visions taunt us to play.
In the fog of forgetfulness we are
our own distraction to living this life.
Siobhan
11-17-07
Without Losing
Sensations tickle a memory’s edge
closed eyes can see the outline of the place
we find ourselves, lost to everyone else.
Have I been here before-have you ever?
Uncharted waters run beneath our feet.
We’re ankle deep in life’s passionate kiss
oblivious-but not entirely.
Reality circles and we’re captured
torn between this embrace and the other
side of where we were before it began.
Is there such a place inside fantasy
that will allow us the freedom to dream
and live alongside the rest of the world
without losing -to memory- passion?
Siobhan
11/15/2007
In the Mirror
A prisoner in my own house, I am
unable to explore the world outside
unable to explore the world within,
I sit and stare blankly forward at walls
painted long before, when color was mine
to play. Voices unfamiliar echo
those relatives gone along to other
worlds than this-heaven or hell-I cannot
tell nor do confess to know their secrets
yet listen for the meaning in murmurs
between the creak of floor boards, rattles of
loose window panes waiting to tell the truth.
The jailer comes round once a week, glances
in the mirror, smiles a beautiful smile.
