These Dreams

pencil

Spare a little candle
Save some light for me
figures up ahead
Moving in the trees
White skin in linen
Perfume on my wrist
And the full moon that hangs over
these dreams in the mist

samari
Darkness on the edge
Shadows where I stand
I search for the time
On a watch with no hands
I want to see you clearly
Come closer than this
But all I remember
Are the dreams in the mist

backarch
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside
Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
hatman
Is it cloak ‘n dagger
Could it be spring or fall
I walk without a cut
Through a stained glass wall
Weaker in my eyesight
The candle in my grip
And words that have no form
Are falling from my lips
hand
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside
Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
leterbuck
There’s something out there
I can’t resist
I need to hide away from the pain
There’s something out there
I can’t resist
The sweetest song is silence
That I’ve ever heard
Funny how your feet
In dreams never touch the earth
In a wood full of princes

nomads
Freedom is a kiss
But the prince hides his face
From dreams in the mist

longroad

These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside
Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
3
These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life
These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside
Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away

eternallove

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Let It Burn.

cuffs

In my bed, a bed that never saw your body, never drank our sweat, or felt you rise at dawn.  In my bed a fire lit.  It started in my belly and stayed there.  It burnt my guts.  It took my heart.  Nightmares, tears, panic, all of the things that came from your disappearance, fuel.  All of it, fuel.  I burned until the only thing left was ash.

hair

The odd thing about nothingness is that it never truly is nothingness.  Buried within is always more.  More pain.  More hope.  More.  While the fire emptied me out, some strange well filled me.  I wonder about it now.  I’m a pile of ash and still I breath.

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That bed, the furnace with my dreams of love a smoldering collection of wood and smoke warming every inch of my life.  I seek sleep in it now and it feels like a war.  A thing that is winning and losing, together.   I lay in it, tossing,turning, allowing myself to think of you, willing myself to forget.  But I never truly want to forget.  We can paint over it, we can turn it away when it begs to crawl between the sheets, we can put a million miles between this day and that,  but the burnt earth will never forget.  The scars of this fire will be seen by every man and woman that passes through our scorched worlds.

twowomen

A friend told me today that he a had moment in life where he opened his eyes to a room filled with flames.  In his left hand was a match, in the right, a gas can.  In that moment you can do only one thing.  Let the mother fucker burn.  All of it, down to the ground.  You with it.  We hold onto some moments with a religious fever.   And to watch them burn is a baptism.  Sacrosanct reckoning.

hatboob

A dunk in the river, a dab of holy water, none of it compares to the righteousness of fire.  And so I am grateful.  I am reverent of this bed that now holds the bones of a new woman.  To me it is a nest.  And I am a phoenix.  The pillows are seeds and the blankets are feathers.  And I will be a phoenix.  I will be hot to the touch.  My hurt will be the wings that keep my soul open, wings spread wide, despite fear, despite the weakness of this new skin.

marylin

It is easy to look back at lost love and regret, hate.  I will never do that.  In my chest is a small, wood cabin that exists only for that love.  It is where I keep forgiveness, respect, and true love.  As my body ages, this house will not.  There is a bow with arrows on the wall, a red hot stove, and a bed with sheets that are always turnt down, waiting.  It is fire resistant.  All great things are both fed by heat and strong enough to withstand the match.

chopwoods

This one’s for you Gyspy.

This is what I think when I think of love.

This is what I thought of when I thought of love.

ruebanireland1

As a child it was a bird that landed in the window and flew away when I reached out to touch it.  It never stayed long.  I learned that to look at it was to scare it away.  To move towards it was to force it into flight.

I taught myself to view it from the corner of my eye.  And we lived in harmony this way.  And when I tired of that I would rush at it, flapping my arms, daring it to leave.  The fear of something is almost always worse than it actually occurring.  And sometimes this was true.  Is true.

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If my windowsill felt empty, it was only because I couldn’t stop looking at it.  Even in the dark I knew that there was nothing there.   And that space was so big and me so small.

When I think of love now I think of warmth like tropic salt water.  I think of immersing myself under the waves and feeling calm within a thundering wash.  I long for love to be the harbor, even though I am the storm.  I can’t be protected from the weather that is inside of me.  And in this place lives a tiny child who runs at the bird to scare it away and dies as she watches it soar.  A thing for others but not for her.

This is what I do when I let it all go.

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I know that out there in that vast space around me is a love that stays.  A love that forgives, forgets, and saves.  I know that out there I will find a love that holds me close and leads me towards my fears, not away.  That love will shine a light on my demons and expose them as dust bunnies and shadows.  And in return I promise love that I will always keep the light on.  The door will always stay wide to the wind.  And though I will never be whole, I will always be ready to try.

This is what I say to love when in sits in the windowsill, wings spread.

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I am sorry.  I never meant to chase you away.  I was taught that when I reached for you that you would leave.  And because of that I sat still, grew scared, and then lunged.  Thinking maybe this would be the time I could hold you in my arms.  I was wrong.  I need you know to know that your beauty has forever changed me and I will stare at my window and see your shape and hear your sound for as long as I live.  In my heart I know how lucky I am to have been so close to you and I am grateful beyond words.  I believe in you and admire your flight; it felt so wonderful to see the world from your perch, even if only for a moment.  You taught me to be brave and true.  You taught me that love is not something you can hold.  It is something that holds you, flies when it likes, and visits you when you least expect it.

This is what I think of when I think of love.

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I long for the day when I can sit in the same room with love and it stays.  It hears me cry and rage, and it stays.  It says to me that I will never leave you; I will never give you a minute of loneliness.  I will be by your side no matter how scared you get.  I don’t need to fly away because I am yours and you need me.  You are mine and I need you.

This is what I think of when I think of love.

Jerome Witkin-Native American-1974

Bread Crumbs For You, A Way Home For Me.

I am doing a little side project on my blog, starting today. It will be highly personal and probably extremely uninteresting to most of you. I will not publicize it, so if you want to read it that is up to you. It will be under the Bread Crumbs page in the drop down menu. If you are using a mobile, it will be under the menu bar and hopefully in some sort of order.  I will be writing one story a day about my life. I am trying to find my way home and this is the only way I know how. This link will be the only time I will offer it publicly, but I will add to it everyday and I am grateful to have such wonderful people to share it with.