No rain.
Like hunger sated
and heat cocooned
around you like emptiness and soul.
A walking pen, squish, squirrel
patterned over paper,
over skin,
over the lines through your head.
Your nose feels dreams--
like silence, like memory
ironed,
pressed in a tangle of arms and legs
and spaces that never interconnect
but play.
Hands that lift open, caress like starlight blazed
but softly.
No breath, no tick, no impatience
just alone.
You.
Absence.
Like climbing down the grid of time and space
to zero.
Artificially never imagined and never real.
Not you.
The green that twists and vines
over and around you
taking you home
where your body
began and began.
Cold. Llike frost coating and drying and shriveling.
An end .
Collapsed to nowhere that sees sun or touch.
Dreaming.
You never hear the answers, the questions.
All you hear are your screams, thoughts, denials.
Not me.
The steady beat of heart
walking
to where dreams
take you into their hold.
Published by Sheri Fresonke Harper
Sheri works as a freelance writer, novelist and poet. She worked in the aviation industry at the Port of Seattle and Boeing Company for 20 years as a systems analyst/architect where she edited and wrote over... View profile
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19 Comments
Post a CommentCreativity with depth - I like it.
Very nice :)
I loved this, especially 'walking pen, squish squirrel...' and 'the green that twists and vines...' You help us hear and feel this not so hushed silence.
Wonderful and very creative poem. :-) I enjoyed.
Nice one!
Quite compelling, Sheri! I really liked this one. In fact, I went back and reread it three times. (^;^)
this is well done. I could almost hear the silence.
excellent poem Sheri.
very captivating. I eagerly await more from you
You have a lovely use of words, creating very specific, yet dreamy, worlds.