It was as though I had died too,
Encased in wood; set a flame.
A pile of ashes headed for the grave.
The dead have it easy, you see.
Their lives left for the living to unwind,
Dead ends leading nowhere,
Unfinished stories of a muse sick author,
Left hanging on a single word, a single line
“And then she breathed her last breath, before”
Before….
“Before the girl rose from her slumber”
Because I never died, I merely fell asleep
Only to reawaken to find the world had left me behind.
Your story cannot be built on the lives of the dead.
They can’t fill the book that is your own
Because that tome is yours and
One of the last things she told me was that she wanted me to be happy. She wanted me to take long walks in the woods and admire the green leaves around me. To marvel at the world around me with that kind of naiveté’s of a child, but able to analyze and share it with exuberance. She wanted me to be with a man I love, so long as he treated me well, and that I was with him because I loved him too. More than anything, she wanted me to be happy.
I was her angel, she called me that in those last days as we helped and cared for her. Some kind of strange angel fighting with keeping her mind straight working through chemical equations o
My mother told me before she died that I had always been her Guardian Angel. I till this day try to wrap my head around this concept of how I could possibly be her angel. She said that I had always been there to take care of her. I guess I had to be someones angel even for a short time.
I went into the hospital for my neck, again. It always cramps up, so they give me anti-inflammatory to ease the pain. She was standing in the doorway crying talking to a police officer crossing her arms over her chest as though she were trying to cover herself up, hunched slightly. He was asking her if she needed a ride. She shook her head tears rolling down
It occurs everyday to think that she is dying, like the world around her, but at a much faster rate than everyone else. I Imagine him standing near her bed scythe in one hand and the swinging sand hour glass in the other only so that he can see. It's much like swallowing bitter poison each day I take care of her, watching her waste away to a hollow shell of a person that she once was. I know she's bitter too. My mother, still fairly young, and her mind slipping as her body fails. I don't blame her for being angry, she's trapped in her own mind as her thoughts come out in a jumbled mess for us to translate and her eyes only able to see down a
It quickens my blood through my veins,
I hear the pulse in my ears,
the waters flow around me,
this river,
is the life that flows through me,
around me,
the wind is my breath through he trees.
I give myself to those wilds,
to that pulse of the earth,
to that greater oneness,
that the stillness of my heart looks for.
I feel the moss below my feet,
as I run through the leaves,
I hear the wolves around me,
my spirit dances to their song.
Their calling me,
calling me to sing,
while the oceans call me to dance,
to become apart of that oneness
that the calmness within my heart
longs for.
forgive me now,
but I'm afraid this heart
has turned to the shadows to rest
Closed her eyes to the day
and given her soul unto the night.
Give the soul rest,
to give the soul flight,
these wounds have left my spirit weak.
That old witch,
mistress of the night,
that goddess hecate,
guards my body for the night.
Wings spread out wide,
like the ravens in the sky,
set free from this body,
to the astral planes I go,
until the sun rises,
and renewed to my body I go.
when the soul is weary
and in need of rest,
Her protection under the moon she gives,
under brightest sun,
and darkest sky,
old Hecate does provide.
In theory I can work ungodly amounts of hours
without any days off,
and make only minimum wage,
In theory I can go days without seeing my friends
or speaking to them.
In theory I can love him,
and he won't be sad that I'm tired
and want to go to bed when I come home.
In theory I can take care of my sick mother,
who needs any extra time that I have left after work,
and needs me to help her remember how to dial the phone
because she's sick and can't remember how.
In theory I'm suppose to not be upset
when she tells me that I don't care about her,
and that I haven't come in to check on her
in days
when I spent five hours with
My throat catches a I try to speak
My heart races,
My body feels heavy,
Like my feet are sinking into the ground
The world suddenly spins around,
I feel myself about to go down
I gasp for air
Like I'm drowning
I try to surface the darkness for air.
It feels like the blood,
Is being dripped from my veins.
My body falls weak,
And I have to lay down
Or pray to the sky,
That I don't fall down.
Stupid little white tablets,
How they fill me with dread,
They're worse than fainting,
They tear me to shreds.
The ground feels uneven,
Though perfectly flat,
Sometimes there is no strength
To bother to fight back.
So I star