Something Like Poetry
“Poetry too is a little incarnation, giving body to what had been before invisible and inaudible.”
-C.S Lewis
"Ophelia"
Here Ophelia stands
On the brink of insanity
Looking for the ideal
Resorting to childhood
Wanting nothing more
Than peace for her soul
Here stands Ophelia
Waiting for something to save her
To rescue her from the rushing water
That is threatening to drown her
Her crown of flowers speaks
Of an innocence of heart
Here Ophelia stands
And she is going to drown
You look like midnight
and speak like December:
so crisp, so finite.
….sometimes so cold.
"Chimes"
the morning hours greet me,
with hesitance in their chimes.
they bid me to sleep,
they hasten me to serenity.
i refuse, respectfully.
angelic voices are numbing
to unsettled thoughts
that pervade waking.
euphoria is beneath
the worries and cares
that forbid peace.
lavender enshrouds
the words i’ve heard
accompanied by melody.
rhythm, the chimes enforce.
hallucinations crowd me
imbued with fears
and something of perfection.
a pallor overtakes me,
rinsing dreams of haste
away from my projection
of future days.
cinematic it seems
to grooves of tradition.
an ascent to the lofty place
where truth is realized-
an imminent event.
mirror image taunts me
in this dark, rising morning.
to be....what?
