The Stack of Books
I sit precariously on top of a stack of books of many sizes. Text books on top of small books of poetry. I feel as though this small mountain of books may come crashing down at any moment. I am scared of the crash and the fall that will surely come. I wobble and shake atop this mountain of ill piled books. How far is the fall and what will happen when I hit the floor? I can’t say that I believe that I will die, because I know that I will not. It’s the unsteadiness that scares me most. I am not on stable ground. Everything that I am, have been, and believe that I one day will be is built on a shaky pile of books. Who will I be when the first book has been pulled out from under me?
Cup of Light
The sky rained diamonds that day. A cup made of shimmering blue light hung suspended in the sky, eclipsing the moon. I drank from the cup and became filled with bliss. I drank and my heart began to fill up with blue light until the light overflowed my heart and spilled out, splashing particles of magnificent light throughout my entire body. I held my pulsating blue heart in my hands.
The Color of Words
Stuck within pages that have already been written on. I have been looking for my voice for so many years. There has been an absence of words and a fear that the absence will continue to haunt me. For what I want most is to be a river deep with words. Painting pictures with beautiful words. Words in acrylics and pastels bringing a blank canvas to life. Red, blue, purple and yellow words. Words swirling together creating deeper and richer colors.