What whispers did the wind lie down
on half open porcelain eyes
careful to admonish the outside world?
Sand cracklers move about
beneath the surface
hiding in plain sight, while giving life
to an otherwise inanimate object.
Shape shifters of the soul
move about freely]
collecting their tithing on their way home.
Behind the Smile~
Words bled out across the pages
of an unforgotten past
past frayed edges of heaven’s gate
where butterflies and angels wait
and it’s never too late.
she’ll smile, so you can’t see her
it’s part of a greater plan
not that you’d understand
but you think you can.
Painted message on the mirror
“make this day a better day”
doesn’t matter how you get there
Just as long as you stay
until that day
when worn out pages
become kindling for a fire
bet you didn’t know
but you think you know
…she’ll smile so you can’t see her
The bitter is not so sweet
without expectation there would be no twinge
of undoing, or fear of becoming.
If we love, we must expect something,
at some point, demand something of someone,
and yet the bitter is not so sweet
to taste of rancor at the crossroads
of expectation and acceptance.
Asphalt remembers hopscotch ghosts
and cracked four-square windows
where pasty-faced children played
until the last bell rang.
“Tommy, throw it over here.”
One of a dozen red balls bouncing
in and out of the lines
while the rhythm is kept
by little girl skirts
as the rope hits the ground.
Asphalt remembers tear-stained cheeks,
scraped knee skids
and the sound of gathered laughter,
of years tied together
with broken shoestrings
and French fried potatoes.
Playground voices etched in cracks
on abandoned school grounds.