Silhouette DreamingA Poem by ReikaIs it really there? Or am I dreaming?Sitting here I stare at the clear, glittering sap. Seeping slowly, dripping through my ceiling panels. At the moment, I am peeling, at the layers of strangers, that I've placed around the core that I call,
“Me”
Did I say me? I meant,“Her”
Unintentionally, I sought identity in a being, apart from me, whom I thought whole.
Coincidentally, identity was found, but not within my shell, but within another, softer bell, whose tune rang stronger than mine ever could.
Those thoughts echoed through my chambers, forced their way out of my throat, and transformed themselves in to small utterances, spoken to myself.
Those true, sharp words slid and sliced my spirit in two.
Bring me back to the pool. How I wish I could bathe myself in those waters. How I wish my tongue could taste the cool liquid That a drop could fall onto my lips and quench this thirst, rush through my body, and heal my rusty joints.
The dreams weren't worth it.
This reality, dangling upon its string, pours drops of dew upon my face, burning, leaking into my pores, infecting me
I feel my limbs, trembling. My chambers, d i s a s s e m b l e.
I Remember.
Stop
and listen...
I hear nostalgic songs, that warm my soul.
...Are you there? ... ...Do you hear me calling?
...
I close my eyes...
That cold, rattling breeze, coming out from the window, the only thing I hear... ...besides my heart. It's lonely.
Beating... slowly...
Beating... slower...
Bringing... me closer...
to that place again. © 2010 ReikaAuthor's Note
|
Stats
302 Views
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on June 11, 2010Last Updated on June 11, 2010 AuthorReikaKanagawa, JapanAboutMy heart sings a gentle song and whispers softly in your ear and your ear alone I'm not the best writer in the world. Hell, I'm not even close to decent. But I love writing, none the less. W.. more..Writing
|