melissaahowells
|
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
I am asked to make a pizza.
Each one is in the shape of a heart and the dough is blood red. After it is baked they, the hungry ones, devour it, laughing, saying: "Weren't we starving and didn't she taste good." Ruddy rings surround their mouths which are filled with row upon row of sharply pointed teeth. I am staring into the future when a man and a woman remark: "My what lovely unusual eyes you have, such a deep deep blue they are." "You must see a lot with eyes such as these..." I reach up to feel my eyelids, but the couple, my eyes are gone. My hands instinctively reach forward groping. I am walking and soon I tire. I find a wide grey rock and sit down to rest and think. A small slumping man approaches me smirking: "Tired, eh?" (Snickering under his breath.) "Are you lost child?" (More snickers.) "Or, have you lost your way to get there?" (Guffaws and hands rising and falling in the air like some grand joke.) I cannot speak. Merrily the Rumpelstiltskin skips away. Tucked under one arm are my feet and blue-suede boots. I stand, forgetting, and immediately fall over in pain. Then, from a birds-eye view I can see me, lying on the ground, crumpled, heap-like. Exhausted. Without a stray hound's chance at hope. An itch begins in the middle of my back, traversing each shoulder blade. I rise spontaneously supported by two newly fledged broad grey wings. You've gotten back more than you have lost. I whisper. I wake. What is dreaming? Pain, loss, redemption? Much more than that. What are dreams? Invisible insights made real. Blessings demanding notice. Copyright October 28,2013 All Rights Reserved By This Author Melissa A Howells/Meloo from her Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
|
