Along the wayward path
By Annalise Grey
Copyright 2011 Annalise Grey
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Along the wayward path
Long have I travelled
along the wayward path.
Ankle-twist
and down I fall again.
Mud-streaked arms and feet
snapping branches as I go.
Sharp scent of decaying
leaves beneath me
and within.
Once my heart loved
enough to care
for my Self and Pride.
No more,
for I released the selfsame heart
into wilderness
losing so much more
in the process
than simply my way.
Those eyes belie
sincerity of voice
Noxious tongue
which speaks volumes on deceit
till dry,
barren from wanting
but not getting
So he tries drinking me in
like wine to quench his heavy need
Heat
I am left in need
of a shield to protect me
and a shower
if the shield fails
She, as a house
and I
a tree
From her he runs
to my wild arms,
firm branches
unbreaking
Wind in my leaves
In the earth, my roots take rest
Golden pleasantry
of days in bloom
She has forgotten
her tree birth
choosing life as a house
Yet he always returns
secure in those same
four walls
quiet comfort for chilly days
protected in her
while I stand sentinel
apart
Germany
My once
bruised and battered heart
is fine now
I martyr my doubt to the wind
while the languid sounds of voices
and words I can't understand
float past me
as I lay myself out
along the banks of the Neckar
My castle burns beneath a velvet sky
For you I'll build another
while you laugh so soft
and teach me of honesty
which lies in working emerald pastures
In these summer days of golden light
you make it easy just to be
Now what have they to say
when none is left to conquer?
For the Queen entrusts
her body and soul
to the keeping of a farmer's son
Though destruction bears
its weight in full
it matters none to me
as you lie aside
Fingers laced
mine in thine
Winifred's waters can't wash away
the stain across my heart
Purging myself of all
till empty
I am temporarily freed from
these leaden chains
of blood
and fear
If I spoke of uncertainty,
doubting my own strength
would you look upon me the same way,
knowing the inner divestment
is more cleansing
than...
anything?
Or would your own heart ache
to know
that he would have loved me
had I been...
more?
This is the seed, my own design,
sown in my psyche
to give me control
over
something
Nuestras raices toman la Tierra
bailando al ritmo
de Ella
sin olvidar la fuerza
y belleza
del sangre comun
I take it here
bound by
taunting looks given my frame.
The mirror sneers
while stone-cold insults
dig shallow graves
for Hope and Wellbeing
inside my breast.
I have no more reason
to doubt their truthfulness
than I do
my own sanity.
Yet
I grieve
For my Beloveds,
Kindness and Charity, too have gone
by way of Hope and Wellbeing
until
my skinny chest is a scarred,
never budding field
for mourning.
Almost
I said, but not quite
Had trouble finding the tongue inside my teeth
the strength of will to move my lips
to take a breath
and speak
Almost
You passed, but not quite
To my left, down the street and out of sight
The engine drowning out any hope of sound
My voice
should have said
“I miss you”
Almost, but not quite
Mrs. P's skeletons lay as crumpled laundry
in a closet tucked away
Her husband knows, of course, but ignores
Politely covering
the door with a delicate couch
Flowery pillows, soft chenille throw
to challenge the horror of her skeletons
piled high and dirty
like stale sheets in desperate need of cleaning
Aired out
Refreshed and saved
from their oily rancor
of skins and fists
against one another
Epic battle of wills
played out upon her
And so each day they sit watching TV
near where her skeletons lay
pretending as if the scraping of bone against bone
is nothing more
than imagination
************************************************************************
About me
Pennsylvania native, dreamer, explorer.
I write because I like talking to the voices in my head. They are (usually) good company. I love to travel (when I have the $ for it). My family is everything to me.
Follow me on Facebook - Annalise Grey
Other works by me:
Ramblings of a Tired Mind: Poems - a small collection of poems about life, love, and everything in between
Bent - Kameron was always a straight edged student until they day he shot and killed a classmate. Now everyone around him is left wondering, what does it take to make a monster? (short story)