A spoonful of dreams
Makes me think of
All things sweet
Yet I wonder what if
They are sour or bitter
Like memories, nightmares?
Can I stir them into
The cup of my life
Without the fear of rousing
Demons that I had denied
A place at the table
A setting in my mind!
It was more purple than green
An ugly gash refusing to heal
Salve nor balm, rest nor restrain
Strong enough to erase the pain
A bruise so blue, a crimson tear
Sweet hurt with trembling fear
Yet, I tend to these injuries deep
Purge the venom, not let it seep
Into crevices of my soul so grim
Discard memories like dead skin
It hurt a bit, the little scratch
When a vagrant nail scraped
With nonchalant smugness;
What pained more, was the yarn
Pulled out from a cozy space
It stared at me, pleading repair
It’s world ready to unravel
With a stitch now haywire
I held the woolen memory
Lovingly in my warm hand
Still smelling of mothballs
Just subdued by gentle wash;
Grabbed a frigid crochet hook
Delicately weaved in the strand
Tied a neat knot, pulled it tight
Tucked it all away, out of sight
Sequined dreams
In the sky
As I stitch every teardrop
Into the firmament
For you to see when
You gaze at the moon
In my memory
It was a strong heart
But feather-light it floated
Buoyed by dreams, hopes
Reaching the sky so blue;
Tie it firmly with icy strings
Till the cold permeates
Freezes that tender love
For warm and flush
It tends to bleed red
Staining all the world!
What colors do you see,
In this unfinished portrait?
It waits for blue
From the waves
To fill vacant eyes
A contrary wind
Reversed ocean
To bring you back
My broken heart, an artifact
In a spectacular box intact
Lying in tarnished pieces
With crumbling petals of roses
A Babushka doll, now faded
Holding a ring, long discarded
Stale memories wrapped
In tissue paper yellowed
Bury them all with me
When my tired soul flees!
Blue Pen Strokes 