melissaahowells
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Depression is a deep blue bowl
with old sour milk in which the mouse nearly drowns because he thinks only of how thirsty he is and not how to climb out. Sadness is that same blue bowl with a wide crack which is a means for the light to escape and move on to a new place the mouse, doesn't even enter into the equation. he's left the room to move on and find his next piece of tasty cheese... such is the difference between these two storylines. The unknowing dream is a dream in which there is a sticky thin sheet so filmy I walk into it and get caught. I see Her and find I cannot move on. She's frail, precious and pale a singular puff-cloud negotiating a sky of darker clouds wearing a sack-gown of daisy flannel Sitting Indian-style wide-eyed in front of a box blaring inscrutable language She's barely aware of me... Hello isn't a word which registers until a new light enters into Her eyes. But I wait and I wait and the gauzy film once thin now grows opaque. The incoming waves of Her thoughts have cast me adrift off to sea... She doesn't know me. She is as Real As Flesh to me but I have no name I am eclipsed I have no address for the Collapsed House of All of Her Memory. legal copyright for this poem directly to the page and also for this writer Melissa A Howells and also for this legally copyrighted site title Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World 7:11am PST October 19th 2018. 9:56 PM final edit Friday October 19, 2018 PST Vote for this poem |
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